The Rest Is Still Unwritten
by Wickedgal08
Summary: She's the owner of a failing bookshop. He's a former writer who gave up pen and paper after he had his heart broken. When their fates collide unexpectedly, will the result pen an epic story with a happy ending for both of them, or a tragedy they will never be able to walk away from? AH/AU. Featuring Beremy, Forwood, Steroline etc.
1. Bedtime Stories

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 1

Bedtime Stories

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"Goodnight, Elena," rang out the cheery voice of Bonnie.

"Night, Bonnie," Elena returned, smiling as her best friend, and co-worker, disappeared out of the door of the little shop they ran together.

She waited until the sound of the door closing met her ears, and then she let out a little squeal of satisfaction before meandering around the various shelves, looking at the latest stock with the kind of joy only a true reader could experience. It didn't even matter that these books had been pawned off by major competitors, or that in some cases they were donated items by family and friends; with the way her business was going at the moment, it was clear they couldn't afford the latest stock, only cheap hand-me-downs that they sold on for a good deal.

She thumbed through a few of the newer books, finding she was one of those rare avid readers that preferred the intoxicating fragrance of a new book compared to the somewhat alluring scent of an old volume. New books excited her, just because the idea that this new age of technology hadn't in any way put a damper on people's imagination. Okay, some clichéd trite still got through the printing press, but the fact books were still fighting back against technology made her smile on a day to day basis.

Elena used the time after closing time to examine her little pride and joy. 'Pages To Go' was a name she'd thought of in while stuck in traffic. She'd been frustrated, knowing she'd had miles yet to go and yet she seemed to progressing very little, and that was when her little habit of retrieving a book from her purse to read during those horrific hours had been born. The name of her shop had just been a little inside joke which no one really got, but seemed to find endearing all the same. Bonnie had loved it, noting it sounded like a takeaway service for books, and that was what had sealed the deal.

Elena had loved books for as long as she could remember. It was something she and her mother had shared. Jeremy, her brother, had never been an avid reader, although she'd managed to recently convince him to read 'The Hunger Games' which he'd strangely enjoyed, if only because the idea of chicks fighting was extremely hot, at which point she'd tuned out of the conversation entirely. The human race hadn't evolved over millions of years just to have men slightly turned on by the idea that females could fight, and perhaps fight even better than men.

Her eyes suddenly caught sight of a box in the middle of the room. She and Bonnie, with the help of their neurotic friend, Caroline, had been going through a sort out recently, and with the threat of closure ever on their heels, they'd decided to try and have a clear out, working out which books were just never going to sell, which had been a hard task. But Caroline, who was the most persistent person in the history of humanity, had taken on that task herself, and in the box were some of – but not limited to – those books.

Elena couldn't resist seeing which books had made the cut. A couple of them were children's books, some were just adult novels she'd never heard of, but a couple of books seemed to stand out from the crowd, and she picked them up, noting they were from the same author - Damon Salvatore

Now that was a name which had to have an interesting story behind it.

She looked at the two books, noting with interest neither of them had a cover picture on it. One was just a deep red with gold writing on the front, the other, navy blue. She thought about putting them down for one second, but part of her became intrigued by the lack of a cover. Was it deliberate? Did it mean anything? She wasn't someone who could just accept something as fact without looking for a deeper meaning.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she took the red book, titled 'Perception', and decided to read just the first chapter, just to get a sense of the book.

By the first paragraph, she was hooked.

By the end of the first chapter, she knew this was going to be something special.

By the end of the book, she realised she was right.

She'd always been a fast reader, even as a child. Some people just couldn't believe the speed at which she could read, and had questioned her, leading to her each and every time proving them wrong when they quizzed her on the contents of the book. She had a system of reading books twice; once to get a feel for the overall story, twice to absorb every detail, memorise every character and their traits, and generally just to memories quotes she could later drop in conversations.

Elena flicked to the inside cover of the book, hoping it would reveal some juicy titbit about the author, but there was nothing. No mini autobiography, no picture, nothing.

She glanced at the second book, titled 'At Third Glance', and read the blurb, falling in love with just the brief summary it gave. 'Perception' had been about the different ways two people could view each other. The characters it detailed were a couple of friends who had once been sworn enemies. In short, it sounded like the clichéd love story, except by the end they'd ended up back as enemies, their brief dalliance with love proving to be the one thing ironically they couldn't be. 'At Third Glance' sounded like a completely different kind of story, focusing on the struggles of a man trying to get over a childhood love, and as she read it, it detailed the various important moments in each decade of his life where he'd tried to ignite something with this woman.

She hadn't meant to get swept up with books that were supposedly meant to be shipped off somewhere – she wasn't quite sure what fate Caroline had planned for these – but she couldn't help reading the second book.

The ending actually caused her to produce tears. Rare was it that she found a book which moved her so deeply. Books that stirred her soul, now there were plenty of those, but unlike romantic movies like 'The Notebook', there weren't many which had brought her to tears. Perhaps the odd Jodi Picoult book had had her reaching for a tissue, but not much else.

She glanced at her watch.

Two a.m.

Where had the time actually gone? Rare was it when she actually found herself settling down to read a book after closing time. She usually used this time to scour the shelves to see what books to promote in the 'Book of the Week' display Bonnie had cleverly come up with. Sometimes she would find a copy of a book she'd read, flicking to her favourite bits, and that would consume her attention for an hour or so, giving her enough time to work up enough courage to drive back to her lonely apartment.

Sometimes she wished she had the courage some of the heroines in books possessed to walk out of a bad situation, but she lacked any sort of support to fall back onto, hence why she kept on living in a place crawling with bad memories. Everywhere reeked of _him_, from the ghost of his perfume lingering in the bathroom, to the odd personal effect he hadn't bothered to pick up.

God, it still hurt thinking about how that particular part of her life had gone down. Love was a painful subject in every language, and even in books, nothing was ever easy. She avoided romantic novels like the plague, choosing to throw herself into worlds which were either fantasy based, with only a touch of romance thrown in, or worlds where love wasn't the beginning, middle and end of each chapter. The Hunger Games, for example, was something she'd adored, given the fact that there was always a question mark over Katniss' real affections for Peeta. She remembered reading a section aloud to an English group for a friend, then asking them to argue for and against Katniss really being in love with Peeta, and to support their argument with exact quotes from the book. Of course, this had been before Mockingjay had come out, before the furore had begun over the trilogy, and she'd always loved that she could claim to have read the books before it became such a hype, although as Caroline had snarked, it didn't make her any better than the rest of them, just a borderline book snob.

Elena never had grasped Caroline's sense of humour.

Then again, Caroline wasn't particularly bookish. She just enjoyed reading the newest rages – think Twilight, Hunger Games etc – and that was the extent of her reading. But she was bubbly, fiercely loyal, and probably the most organised person Elena had ever come across.

Bonnie was more into the soft classics – think Pride & Prejudice, Jane Eyre etc – and she was a romantic at heart, but there was also a hard quality to her that made her someone you didn't underestimate. She was wise beyond her years, yet also possessed a certain vulnerability that meant as tough as she was, she wasn't insensitive by any means. Elena had known her a long time - since childhood, in fact - and had witnessed Bonnie's various teary episodes, and each and every time she'd ended up crying along with her, because that's how her friendship went with Bonnie – if she cried, you cried.

Elena yawned, involuntarily tucking the two books into her coat as she turned off all the lights and headed for the door. By now, the work traffic would've subsided considerably, which meant she could plunge across the city and be in bed with plenty of time before she had to be up to help Caroline and Bonnie plan a theme for the week. Luckily, tomorrow was Sunday, and the shop remained closed, so they could spend the entire day free and without responsibilities.

The theme for the week thing had been Bonnie's idea. Given how difficult these times were, they'd had to come up with some sort of way to attract customers, and simply handing out leaflets and advertising in the paper was just not doing anything to attract enough business. Rather than working on the outside, Bonnie had suggested, they should spruce up the inside somehow without spending any money on decor. Caroline's boyfriend, Tyler, and her brother, Jeremy, were both talented artists who volunteered their services to design posters and banners celebrating whatever theme it was they had going. One week, the theme had been _epic loves_, which hadn't exactly been to Jeremy and Tyler's' tastes. Copies of 'Romeo & Juliet', 'Pride & Prejudice', and even (much to Elena's displeasure) 'Twilight' were all prominently displayed, along with other books that kept to this theme. They kept the themes simple, and they occasionally dressed up to really sell the fact they were trying to make shopping in their store an exciting occasion.

But running a business was hard, and with each passing week, Elena was sure at some point she would have to close her business, sell the property, and do god-knows-what-else with her life.

She did have a dream to fall back on, but it was a dream she hadn't told anybody, not even Bonnie and Caroline because, truthfully, she wasn't sure it was a dream she could ever achieve. But that hadn't stopped her from attempting to fulfil it on several occasions. Until she could concentrate on it possibly, her shop was all that kept her going. It was her baby, her present dream, and she didn't want to see it fall under. Unfortunately, reality wasn't always compatible with ideas built up inside your own mind, so all she could do was keep fighting, day by day.

And though she'd only read it once, a particular line from 'At Third Glance' floated into her mind.

_It wouldn't matter if he'd only seen her once, the effect would still have been the same; this heart racing, pulse stopping, lung clenching burning need to grab onto every last second he had with her until time itself intervened and bid this tragic story a curt goodnight, for what other hope did he have but to cling to a dream for a few more seconds before the sun came up and reality set in?_

She couldn't let the sun set on Pages To Go.

Reality could go screw itself.

The problem with that was that this was reality. Loving books with your entire heart is one thing, but to throw yourself into them, pretending everything will work out in the end, that the final page will have the words _and they lived happily ever after _concluding it, is borderline delusional.

Elena, however, chose to brand it as hope instead.

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"So, I'm thinking this week's theme should be southern classic elegance," Caroline announced, beaming with unabashed pride.

"Ugh. So basically, Gone With The Wind then?" Bonnie guessed, rolling her eyes. "Why can't we do a heroes and villains week?"

"Predictable," Caroline instantly dismissed.

Elena listened to them bicker for a few moments, lost in her own world. She was tired, sure, but her mind recalled odd strings of sentences from Damon Salvatore's books. His characters were real and gritty, and at times not very likable. They were passionate, sometimes cold, but determined and hopeless at the same time. They were embodiments of the human condition, and she loved that.

Now if only there was a way to determine if he'd written any more...

"What do you think, Elena?" Caroline's voice fell onto her radar. "You're the deciding vote."

"What about under-appreciated books?" Elena suggested. "You know, books by authors who aren't quite as well known. We're talking books that haven't been made into blockbusters, books with titles that don't immediately grab you..."

"Okay, you're losing me..." Caroline immediately complained.

"Books that are kind of...underdogs," Bonnie stepped in, looking in approval towards Elena. "What do you have in mind?"

"Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier," Elena shot in. "I know it's been televised – I think made into a film as well – but it's a classic not quite as appreciated as, say, Gone With The Wind."

She gave Caroline a sly look, but her friend simply gave an unabashed shrug, and smiled.

"Uh-huh." Bonnie looked excited. "I have an entire list dedicated to underrated books. This could work."

Caroline gave a snort.

"Gee, I didn't think you actually had to be a book-worm to run a bookshop. Why, when I'm with you two, do I get the feeling I'm not as valued, not as _intelligent _just because I don't read as much as you two do?"

"You are," Elena immediately protested, aware they'd had this argument before. "You're _integral _to Pages To Go, Caroline, and you know it. You're the drill sergeant of this operation. You're the..." she searched for inspiration, "...Jasper to my Edward and Bonnie's Alice."

"What, so you're the know-it-alls, and I'm the one with the battle plan, and the quiet sexy vibe going off all the time?" Caroline paused, contemplating this. "Huh...I guess I can live with that. But compare me to a boy again and I will scratch your eyes out."

Bonnie let out a derisive snort, and the tension eased up again.

Elena could understand Caroline's insecurities. She and Bonnie had been best friends longer, and their connection to books had solidified their friendship. They did almost everything together, consulted each other on everything, and Caroline often felt like the odd one out because she just wasn't as well read. But Elena knew she'd been trying; the other day she'd caught her reading a Charles Dickens book, her eyes narrowed as she'd focused on the tiny print, her mouth pressed into a confused line, and that was really all you had to know about Caroline Forbes.

She was a determined spirit, with a heart of gold, who was just that little bit competitive, not to mention highly intelligent in all things relating to human behaviour.

"Deal," Elena laughed.

"And to be fair, Caroline, you were the one who recommended us to read _Perks of Being a Wallflower _which was a phenomenal book," Bonnie added, her hand covering her chest, as if just mentioning the book sent her heart fluttering.

"Well, my cousin recommended it," Caroline said, but she looked mollified all the same. "But yes, it was amazing. I cried."

"I didn't," Elena confessed.

"Then thou art a devil woman!" Bonnie proclaimed, her eyes widening. "Are you just a robot when it comes to books?"

"Maybe," Elena replied, hiding a secret smile.

Yes, she'd already decided to keep this one secret from her best friends. It was for purely selfish reasons too, because reading any new book, to her, was like meeting a new friend, and she had to determine whether or not to introduce it to her other friends, and sometimes that meant keeping it a secret until that moment came. She wanted to find out more about Damon's work anyway before she recommended him, although she knew if Caroline even caught a sniff of this secret, she would interrogate it out of her, and, frankly, Elena wasn't ready for that.

The three girls spent the rest of the afternoon planning the next week's events. There was a reading from a new teen novel – 'Beneath The Autumn Moon' by new author on the block, Luka Martin – as well as a few meetings with potential clients who seemed interested in helping the business out. They were dedicated to keeping the shop open, but sometimes the conversation would turn to what would happen if the worst happened.

"I think I'd probably try my hand at broadcast journalism," Caroline frequently mused. "I mean, it's always interested me, but I've never had the opportunity to pursue it before."

"I want to travel the world," Bonnie always confessed. "I love animals, so maybe I could run some zoo somewhere. Maybe become a marine biologist. I don't know. I just love the idea of being a part of something big."

Elena never shared what her heart's biggest passion was, but she was becoming increasingly troubled by the fact that running the shop was nobody's dream. It was just a job for Bonnie and Caroline; for her, it was mostly holding on to something which had been her parent's pride and joy, and even though she'd changed its original design, she couldn't imagine ever selling the place. In fact, the idea made her feel sick, so she would never dwell on the matter if she could help it even though deep down she knew there was only so long you could hold onto someone else's dream before you would have to let it die with them.

As Bonnie and Caroline left her apartment, chatting loudly about what film they were going to see, Elena felt herself sink into the loneliness which surrounded the apartment.

With cream walls, beige floors, and curtains the shade of wine, the place was beautiful, expensive looking almost, but she knew the truth. Endless hours of decorating, hard work, and playful banter had built this place to look the way it did. The laminate flooring carpeting the corridors between rooms, the sleek counters with oak coloured tiles in the kitchen, the deep red walls circulating her bedroom each brought now painful memories to the surface whenever she looked at them. For example, whenever she looked at the chocolate coloured three piece suite, she thought about the times she had waited for him, dressed in nothing but a loose robe, giggling as he'd raised an eyebrow the moment he'd entered the room and viewed her, always a look of awe twinkling in his eyes before he shrugged off his jacket and collided with her – in every way possible.

She'd thought about selling a lot of her stuff to help fund the shop, but she realised the memories were all that held her together. Moving on was hard, but so was the idea of giving away everything which had, for a while, been her entire world.

Searching for a distraction, Elena switched on her laptop, waiting for the search page to load as she typed in Damon Salvatore's name. His name didn't bring up a lot of results, but eventually she found a page devoted to underappreciated authors, and although there was nothing written about the author himself, it did list some of the other titles she'd missed.

Without hesitation, she found the books and ordered them online. Due to their unpopularity, she would get them the next working day, which excited her. Reading distracted her from everyday life, planted her feet within the realms of another world, and that was a welcome feeling. But the problem with distractions were that they were brief, not designed to give you permanent solace, which meant sooner or later she would have to face reality for what it was. She wasn't sure her heart was ready to take that step yet.

To her surprise, Damon had only written a small selection of books. The last one, published two years back, was titled '1864', and sounded quite dark. Then again, she had learned not to judge by appearances and labels, even though to be honest she was sure that was a part of everyday life. Her first impressions of Bonnie and Caroline had been quite exact, but there were other sides she'd learned to see and accept, so maybe the expression 'don't judge a book by its cover' was not quite right. Maybe it should've been 'don't take the cover of a book as the only representation of what's inside'.

Perhaps that was too long winded a phrase to use though.

She sighed, closing down the laptop and curling up on her sofa, her knees drawn halfway to her chest. She was struggling with the rent on this property, but somehow the money always seemed to turn up. It was like the physical embodiments of letting go and holding on were entirely at war, so that when one reason for letting go presented itself, it was immediately countered by a reason to hold on.

Sensing this was going to be another day where she would pointlessly succumb to the misery she hid from the rest of the world, Elena grabbed her car keys from the side, deciding to visit her friend Matt, who worked in her local bar. She was taking the car purely to remind herself not to drink, because both she and Matt remembered that god-awful night she'd drank excessively to the point of passing out. He'd been so good to her, letting her crash over at his apartment above the bar, holding back her hair as she'd vomited into the toilet the next morning, that sometimes she wondered what she'd done to deserve someone like him. Caroline had once snidely suggested he fancied her, and since then it was all Elena could think about every time she was around him, because he never treated anybody quite the way he treated her.

Elena sighed, deciding to opt out of going to visit Matt tonight.

She flung the keys on the table, whipped out the laptop again, and pulled up a little project she was working on. She worked on it through the night, occasionally pausing to watch the television, catching up on some CW shows which fuelled her typing speed. Then, at about three in the morning, after making sure she'd eaten and had a long soak in the bath in between insane typing sessions, she shut down her laptop, crawled into bed, and found herself dreaming about this Damon Salvatore character.

Her mind seemed to pull up an image of a dark haired man, with bright green jovial eyes, clad in a loose fitting t-shirt and baggy jeans. She had no idea where this image came from, but she couldn't get the idea out of her mind that he wasn't much older than she was. The language he used, the characters he created, spoke of someone who'd experienced a fair deal of what life had to offer, but at the same time was at an age where he was still continuing to mature and grow.

The more she began to obsess about him, the harder she found it to sleep, until her mind came to only one logical conclusion.

She had to meet him.

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A/N: I really shouldn't be writing anymore new stories but this was a little idea that wouldn't leave me alone. My first AH fic (I think), so go easy on me. I've tried not to change any characters' personalities - I had a whole rant on tumblr about authors that do this - so hopefully there's no major OOC we go on, we'll learn more about the characters here, more about what drives them, and there will be several angsty moments for all the characters. This will focus on Damon and Elena, but there will be some Forwood, a sprinkle of Beremy, a dash of Steroline, so this should satisfy all your shipping needs, except maybe Klaroline. The whole premise around this idea is how writing can be a perfect outlet for people going through different things in life, and even though life can be your literal writing block, your perfect muse is never too far around the corner. Chapter 2 is already written, so we'll see what kind of response this gets.


	2. Pursuit of Happiness

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 2

Pursuit of Happiness

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"Absolutely not."

Stefan pinched his brow, thoroughly exasperated with his brother.

"Give me a good reason why not. And if it's because of the K-word, I will personally hand deliver a well deserved kick to the crotch on the grounds that you're an idiot."

Damon had to smirk at that.

"Technically, that wouldn't be so much of a hand delivery, as it would be a _foot delivery._"

"Nobody likes a smart arse, Damon."

"Least of all you." Damon knocked back a glass of Bourbon. "I get why you're asking me, Stefan, but going on this business endeavour would be like accepting the fact I actually work here now – for _you_."

"I offered this job to you out of pity, Damon. Nobody made you accept it." Stefan gave him a look. "We both know what you really want to do, brother, but until you get the balls to actually go back to what you love most, you might as well accept the fact this is your life now."

"Ugh..." It was Damon's turn to pinch his brow. "The words 'weekend in Paris' have a lot more of a romantic connotation in my head. Going there with a bunch of boring accountants for a boring firm just shatters that little illusion to hell."

"You could bring a date," Stefan suggested. "Even though it's one weekend in Paris sorting out some business for the company, we won't be holed up inside the entire time."

"I don't date anymore," Damon said curtly, looking disgusted by the idea. "As a former romantic fantasist, I refuse to believe in the idea of accompanying a woman to Paris unless she means something to me. A cheap date ain't gonna cut it."

"It's in April, Damon. Plenty of time for you to find love between now and then."

"You say that like love is a completely predictable thing, that it's just waiting out there for me to find like a pathetic fish in a shallow stream and grab with my hands," Damon replied, shaking his head dismissively. "I've closed the chapter on love, Stefan. It's done. We all get one chance at love, Stefan. One chance. Then that's it."

"How many books out there can prove that statement wrong, I wonder?" Stefan mused, quietly enough to disguise as a thought spoken aloud but also at a volume designed to make his stubborn brother think.

If Damon had heard him, he ignored his response, choosing instead to scan his eyes around their shared drinking cabinet – which had a lot of old wines and expensive liquors amongst the cheap rubbish they were given by friends and family members – and it saddened Stefan that once upon a time, his brother had gazed just as reverently at all the shelves of their family's library, his hands stroking the spines of old books, the awe in his eyes something Stefan only saw now when he was admiring particularly good vintage alcohol.

Damon was an unpredictable character, Stefan mused, and the years were making this fact even truer. His brother would sometimes appear like he was back to his old self again; Stefan would catch him sometimes writing deep meaningful looking paragraphs at his desk, before promptly scrunching them into paper balls he would throw in the bin, a dark scowl twisting his features. Mostly though, his brother was someone he barely recognised, someone who threw himself into a job everyone knew he hated. Hell, if he'd been into one night stands, Stefan would've accepted it, but Damon came to work alone and he went home alone, and that was the sad truth.

He was worried for his brother, but if he tried to convey that fact in any shape or form, it pushed Damon away. Damon despised people fussing over him, and he despised the idea that people wanted to help him change his life.

Damon would change on his own terms, no one else's, but Stefan began to fear that that was nothing more than a fancy hope on his part. He couldn't watch his brother slowly self-destruct, but neither could he interfere without activating that button himself. It was a catch-22 situation, so in the end, he'd decided to just let his brother be; if he wanted extra work to distract himself, Stefan would give it to him. If Damon wanted to go home early, Stefan would pull the right strings to let that happen.

He just wondered when _he'd _become the older brother, trying to make sure Damon didn't ruin his life somehow.

Damon needed a positive influence in his life, not necessarily a woman but a companion who would tolerate the right amount of his bullshit, but at the same time not be afraid to kick his ass when the right moment for doing so cropped up. Stefan had tried setting Damon up with several women, but each had complained that their dates had been lacklustre and that Damon himself had been unresponsive and sullen, completely uninterested in getting to know them at all, so in the end, Stefan had given up trying to help his brother back into the dating game.

All he could do at this point was hope that, like every good novel, the right influence would just turn up out of nowhere and change his brother's world for the better.

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"Thank you, Mrs Lockwood," Elena said gratefully, watching as the last customer of the day filed out of her shop. "Come again soon."

"Why do you feel the need to thank each customer who comes in?" Bonnie questioned, filling in some paperwork behind the counter. "Not like they're doing it for you."

"Habit, I guess," Elena spoke absent-mindedly.

"Guys," Caroline squealed, charging through the shop doors just as Mrs Lockwood exited, "I have exciting news."

"It better be more exciting than when you told us your favourite celebrity couple got engaged," Bonnie warned her, but her eyebrows were knitted together with amusement, her eyes sparkling with anticipation because, let's face it, Caroline was never overly dramatic without good reason.

"I just secured us a visit from a high profile author," Caroline announced, beaming from ear to ear.

"Who?" Elena immediately yelped.

"A Miss Lexie Branson," Caroline said smugly, "author of the soon-to-be on the big screen 'Ripper', the book critics everywhere are calling 'the thriller of the century'. She agreed to come to our shop to give a talk!"

"No. Way." Bonnie seemed genuinely shell-shocked. "The same author behind easily the most kickass female detective of all time, 'Jaz Willoughby'?" She shook her head, smiling dazedly. "Man, those books kept me from being insanely bored during the summer I stayed with my mom in Chicago. I love her and all, but we just had so little to talk about."

"Jaz Willoughby," Elena crowed, pumping her fist into the air, "More than just a detective."

"More than just a female!" Caroline joined in.

"More a mystery than the mysteries she solves," Bonnie finished, laughing loudly.

"Cue the _Jaz _hands," the three girls crowed together, doing the action before folding their arms around each other and collapsing on a nearby beanbag, giggling loudly.

"Okay, did I really need to witness that?" came the deep voice of Tyler Lockwood, staring down at them, Jeremy standing next to him, both of them wearing identical expressions of mingled concern and amusement.

"Sorry, but that was her catchphrase whenever she solved a crime," Caroline cried, throwing her arms around Tyler before kissing his lips. "We used to _love _the Jaz Willoughby series."

"Oh, God, not this again," Jeremy groaned. "Elena used to say that all the freakin' time around our house."

"Are you girls twenty six or _six_? I'm confused," Tyler teased, locking his arms around Caroline.

"What we lack in maturity we make up for with brains," Elena reported solemnly, grinning at the wacky faces Bonnie was pulling to demonstrate this fact.

"Clearly," Jeremy taunted. "Listen, me and Ty managed to find the props for the Halloween display. His uncle scored us an amazing set of costumes too."

"You're going as a werewolf again aren't you?" Caroline sighed, flicking Tyler's head affectionately.

"You don't like it?"

"No, I don't. It's just we've been together for two years now, and I'm yet to recall a single Halloween we spent where our costumes co-ordinated in any way," she said crossly. "First there was werewolf and Wonder-Woman. Then last year, it was werewolf and Rosalie Hale... which, in hindsight, probably went better together than I thought. Rosalie and Jacob are perhaps the scariest couple _I _could ever dream up." She sighed again. "I want us to have _couple_ costumes this year, like... Peeta and Katniss, or Romeo and Juliet. _Something _that tells the world we do everything together, including doing the whole dorky costumes bit."

"Hell to the no," Tyler proclaimed vehemently. "I don't do couples costumes. It's embarrassing!"

"If you can get through all four of the Twilight books without making a judgemental comment to me or anyone else that we know," Caroline challenged, "you can go as werewolf boy. If not, you'll have to be my bitch and I get to choose your costume for you."

"Done," Tyler agreed, shaking her hand.

"Um, Ty, are you sure you've thought this through?"Elena offered. "Those books aren't your type of thing at all, and I know you of all people won't be able to resist commenting on the first chapter alone."

"The Twilight books suck on all kinds of levels," Jeremy added, "from what I've heard anyway," he then said, as if afraid he would get all kinds of questions about how it was he knew what the Twilight saga was like unless he'd read them himself.

"I can get through four books no matter what they're like," Tyler said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "If only to get to wear my werewolf costume which is gonna be gorier and bloodier than ever before."

He began to launch into an explanation about the costume, which immediately got Jeremy interested and the two of them rattled off ideas about how to make it even more gruesome.

"Oh good lord," Caroline sighed, pinching the ridge of her nose. "Is it too early to start drinking?"

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When she arrived back home, Elena squealed at the three packages which had arrived in her mailbox. There was something about getting parcels, even at her age, which brought an inexplicable sense of joy to her heart, like some kind of Secret Santa had been formed without her prior knowledge. She also had several bills, a letter from her pen-pal in England, and an invitation to a high school reunion she had no plans to attend.

Taking her collection of mail inside, Elena sorted through the bills, making faces at the ones which really didn't look that healthy at all. Mentally, she tried to work out what her chances were at paying rent with the money left over, and then she gave up because maths wasn't her strong suit at all, and it gave her a headache trying to work out how best to live without becoming homeless and poor in the process.

Taking one of the packages, she opened it up with a knife carefully, letting the book slide onto her open palm, a gasp escaping her lips at the cover, which was this deep maroon red in colour. Again, it was plain, but there was at least a little blurb at the back.

_Set in 1864, two warring brothers quarrel for the affections of a female guest staying at their residence. What they'll ultimately discover is that underneath her petticoats and corsets is a woman out to play a game which will have deadly results for them both._

The title of the book was simply 1864.

Elena couldn't help but wonder what the significance of that particular year was.

The other books were just individual collections of short stories, so she eagerly sat down, curled up in a comfortable position, and began opening the book she'd first picked up.

The first paragraph shocked her.

_Ask anyone about the bond between the Sanders brothers', and you might get a multitude of responses, all generally conveying the same tone – they were thick as thieves, a fact that may have proved to have been their undoing. They were spoilt in almost every way, wanted for nothing, seized every opportunity given with both hands, and loved and cherished each other beyond any shadow of a doubt. You might be well endeavoured to ask what could possibly come between such a strong bond, a bond started with the birth of the younger sibling, developed over time over hours playing by the old creek, swinging from handcrafted ropes, and gawking at the elegant ladies of their small town. _

_ The answer, of course, is the same answer to the riddle which vexes all men – a woman._

_ For doesn't everything, every crisis, every doubt, every desperate act of a desperate man, come down to the love of a woman?_

The style of writing was unusual to say the least. The narrative instinctively involved you as a reader, made you ask the very questions it then endeavoured itself to answer, but that wasn't what shocked Elena.

It was the bitterness in the writing. Oh, it may have been indistinct, but there was definitely a personal element woven into the writing, making this book a lot darker than the others she'd read.

The story itself was fantastic though. She held onto every word as the book detailed the lives of Samuel and David, using italics to flashback to moments when their brotherhood was strongest. She found herself pounding her fist into the sofa as the arrival of the female antagonist, Elizabeth, swanned in and played the two boys against one another, her cruel games becoming more and more traumatising as the book progressed.

She closed the book one chapter before the end, suddenly troubled.

This book had deeply perturbed her, and she couldn't say why. There was something so bitter about this book which had her questioning just how much of himself the author had poured into this latest chapter. Despite the fictional set up of the book, she felt like this was a situation mirroring real life, and that made her feel inexplicably outraged on behalf of her gender.

She'd known people loosely like Elizabeth, who preyed on men's hearts before breaking them. In fact, Caroline had been on the verge of being one herself before Tyler had come along, his unexpected chivalrous side as he'd helped fix her car on the side of the road bringing out the romantic side of her which existed today. She'd witnessed firsthand how they could ruin lives; Jeremy's tumultuous relationship with Matt's sister Vicki had nearly destroyed him. Vicki had kept him on an invisible leash, while parading around with other guys, and making no attempts at being discreet about it. She'd had to watch helplessly as her own brother pined after a girl who would never love him the way he wanted to be loved, and it had taken her all her strength, and Matt's intervention, to be able to get Jeremy to a good place again. Vicki soon had had a taste of her own medicine anyway, left scowling and bitter as the boy she'd really liked cheated on her with her enemy.

Maybe love was harder to grasp than the books and films made it out to be. Nobody ever got given their happy ending on a silver platter; everybody had to work for it, only sometimes even working for love never got you anything but a broken heart.

That settled it.

Elena had to find this elusive Damon Salvatore. She had to know for herself who the man behind the novels really was. Her curiosity was piqued, and she sensed another lost soul between the pages of the books she'd read. Colour her naive, but from one book lover to another, she knew sometimes writers made the loneliest people, and something had drawn her to Damon's books. She wasn't like Caroline, who believed in fate and destiny, but she also knew not to question the hands life could deal you. It had to be for some kind of reason, even if you had to search out the reason for yourself.

She started by looking up the publishing details in the first two pages of the book. To her surprise, she recognised the publisher's address. She was sure she'd hovered around that area before, although her memory remained hazy as to why she'd done that. Perhaps going there would give her a memory boost.

Suddenly the vibrant tones of _Moves Like Jagger _filled the room, signalling the fact her phone was ringing. She answered it, slightly breathless for some reason, only to find all she could hear on the other end was heavy breathing. She'd been getting one phone call like this a week for a long time now. It should've frightened her more, but to be honest she was more irritated at the thought of someone wasting her time like this, and that irritation was what stopped her from calling the police.

Call her crazy, but she felt like there was more to these mysterious phone calls than met the eye, and judging by her choice of books, it was clear she was going to solve this mystery one way or another.

She hung up after a moment, jumping in alarm as the phone rang again, this time displaying the contact name Jenna Sommers on its screen.

"Aunt Jenna?" Elena sounded surprised, with good reason. It had been a long time since she'd last heard off her aunt, probably around the one year mark. "Are you okay?"

_"Elena, hi," _Jenna sounded breathless, "_I know it's kind of short notice, and I know we've not spoken for a while, but can your humble apartment fit a broken hearted woman in somehow?" _There was a distinct hiccup on the other end. _"Logan Scumfell cheated on me."_

"Again?"

_"You'd think I would've learned by now but nooooo... Stupid jerk possesses too much charm, that's how he ensnares women and never lets them walk away until he's got someone else on the hook."_

"The bastard," Elena hissed vehemently. "Where are you?"

_"Outside your flat,"_ came Jenna's sheepish voice. _"I had to leave, Elena. I had to. It was just... And he was... "_

Within moments, Elena had hung up the phone, raced to the door, shepherding in her broken looking aunt, who gave her a grateful smile as she brought in her bags. There wasn't much between them in terms of years, and the similarities between them had been what kept their bond so strong, even after all these years.

After her parents' deaths, she and Jeremy had had Jenna come live with them, and she'd done a good job of raising them, but after she and Jeremy had left for the big city life, they'd not done a good job of keeping in contact with the woman who'd dropped her whole life to come fix theirs. Elena felt guilty for not doing more to make sure Jenna was okay, but the problem with city life was how easily it could sweep you up so that all traces of small town life immediately disappeared.

"Thank you," Jenna croaked, flopping down on the sofa, her eyes red raw from crying. "I wouldn't have come except Miranda was the only family I had left, and then she – "

"I know," Elena said softly, sitting next to her aunt, pulling her into a warm hug. "Jenna, I'm sorry for not contacting you sooner. I've just been..."

"Busy," Jenna finished for her, smiling. "I know. I'm glad to hear about the shop. I'm so proud, Elena."

"Well, don't be. It's probably going to fall under soon, what with this economy and all," Elena sighed. "But enough about me - tell me more about Logan Scumfell." She rose to her feet, a mischievous grin painting her lips. "Wait a second though, as I think I might just have some alcohol around which would aid your storytelling quite nicely."

"This is exactly the reason I came," Jenna sighed contentedly, giving her niece a grateful smile. "You're my hero, Elena."

But it was Elena who should've been grateful.

For a while this apartment had felt haunted, and she'd felt like she didn't belong here, that she was the ghost stuck between the living and the dead, but with Jenna being here, already it felt different. She felt like company here was all she really needed to make her life that little bit better. Plus Jenna's reputation as the fun aunt was bound to bring some energy into this place, and god only knew it needed it.

Elena soon returned armed with a bottle of Jenna's favourite wine.

"I knew I corrupted you," her aunt lamented, "I'm like those pushy parents, forcing their children to like what they like. I'm sure before I came along you stuck to the alcohol that tastes like pop, not the stuff I drink to forget_ everything_..."

"Relax, Jenna, I happen to have a bottle of this stuff around sometimes," Elena laughed, cutting her aunt off before she rambled on about her supposedly awful parental skills. "Helps with the loneliness."

"I heard about what happened with..."

"I don't want to talk about it," Elena cut across her, smiling even though they could both see it was forced. "He was a first class jerk who left in the middle of the night without a reason or a goodbye. End of story."

"Yours leaves, mine cheats," Jenna mumbled. "Makes you wanna give up men altogether."

Elena giggled.

"Have you had anything to drink already, by any chance?"

"Maybe a tipple." Jenna demonstrated the amount with her fingers. "This one bartender was really good to me before I came here."

Rolling her eyes humorously, Elena poured them both a drink.

"So what do you plan to do with the house now then? Put it up for sale?"

"Ugh. I don't know." Jenna covered her face with her hands. "I kind of don't want to – I mean, it was your parents' house – but I don't want to go back there just yet. A friend of mine is looking after it while I figure out what to do. I hope you don't mind me crashing here for a while?" She peered at Elena with guilty eyes. "It's just... you know...we're family..."

"Stop with the puppy eyes, Jenna. We _are _family, and I _love _you, and I welcome the company to be honest," Elena responded warmly, "Now, tell me what happened so I can put Logan on my 'hate forever' list..."

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Damon staggered into his lonely abode perfectly aware he'd had one too many to drink, yet unable to pull up a good enough reason to care.

He dragged himself to bed, peeling the clothes from his skin, wondering why every night seemed to end the same, like the storylines of a soap opera. He had the sudden craving to delve into a book, let the stories it would whisper to him sing him to sleep like the most familiar of lullabies. But he avoided books like he avoided love. No point trying to recreate his old life in any shape or form.

This place held too many memories for him. Little touches of her still remained around the place, and maybe he was a sentimental prick, but he kept them if only to remind himself of what to avoid in the future. Her hairbrush still lay on the table beside his bed; it was the first and last thing he would look at before bed. Clumps of her auburn hair stuck out like thorns, the sight figuratively stabbing him in the heart, and it reminded him of the way she'd brushed her hair, in smooth, long, careful strokes, moving the brush in the direction of each curl, a broad smile lighting up her entire face as her eyes had aligned with his.

"Why, Mr Salvatore," she would always purr, her pink tongue running along the bottom lip in a way specifically designed to make his pants tighten. "I do believe you're staring at me."

Instantly, his lips would seize hers, his hands dragging her towards the bed, and all the while she would make such a fuss, proclaiming he was going to ruin her hair, but inevitably, her hands would be doing all the world, pinning him down in a way that reminded him she was in charge, and at the time he'd liked that. He'd liked being dominated, controlled, particularly by a woman who was not shy when it came to displaying her sexual prowess. She'd been beautiful, intense, sometimes psychotic whenever she became incited with rage, and he missed her.

God damn it, he _missed _her. How screwed up was _that_?

With an angry growl, Damon grabbed the brush from the side, tossing it out his bedroom window impulsively, the room spinning around before his eyes as the alcohol continued its plan of slowly but surely destroying every organ he possessed.

It was amazing how two years could emotionally damage a man long after the catastrophe had actually struck. After a war has ended, after a hurricane has subsided, there's only so much coverage the news can do about the effects of such catastrophe before the world moves on, and the same situation applied here, but much less newsworthy, of course.

What, after all, was so strange about a man's heart being broken beyond repair? Why did people insist on writing songs, stories, poems about love when in a second it could become the most soul damaging concept of all time? Why celebrate it? It was destructive; it made people destructive. He'd stopped writing about it for that reason, although it was also because he eventually realised everything he ever wrote revolved around love in some way, even if one of his books had somehow carried the message that love could change things for the worse when it wasn't being all...poetic, and stuff.

That didn't mean he didn't miss it though - being in love, writing when it was surrounding him, relishing in the sensation of having another person in your life who understood absolutely everything about you, while at the same time having the power to hurt you yet choosing not to. He missed it all.

In fact, he missed it more than anything in the entire world.

The facade that he was doing okay was just that – a facade. One day, the walls would cave in, burying him with his past, but until then, he was doing a grand job of pretending his own story didn't need a drastic rewrite.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. You guys are amazing :) Slowly but surely the characters are getting introduced, and each of them will have an important part to play before this story's ended, so prepare for a fairly lengthy fic :) Next chapter will be when Damon and Elena meet for the first time, so stick around! :)


	3. First Impressions

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 3

First Impressions

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"How is it having Jenna around again?" Jeremy asked, hovering around Elena as she prepared to open up shop for the day.

It was strange how her brother had his own life, yet still managed to pick the most irritating of hours to come and bug her. Strange, and still endearing somehow.

"It's a little weird," she confessed, "but her timing couldn't be better. I was struggling to keep up with the rent, and Jenna has some savings, and she's agreed to help pay until she finds her own place."

"I'm glad she broke up with Logan though. The guy was a tool."

"Gee, you think?" She batted him away with a nearby book as she swerved around him to sort out the various displays before customers started arriving. "Guys who cheat need some sort of neon sign attached to their balls so women know to steer clear of them."

Jeremy, who'd been taking a sip of water at that point, spat it out, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Bit harsh, 'Lena," he choked, and she couldn't help chuckling at the look on his face.

"Um, need I remind you of the whole Vicki situation? It nearly destroyed you. Cheaters and first class manipulators shouldn't get second chances, at least not without the next person to cross their path knowing what they're capable of."

"So what's the female equivalent of your suggested punishment, hm? A giant sticker on their va – "

"Morning," Bonnie called, her arrival perfectly timed.

"Morning, Bon," Elena called back, giving her brother a well executed punch to his shoulder, which made him wince. "How's your Grams doing?"

"Better," Bonnie replied, swinging her bag onto the countertop. "Doctor still wants her to take it easy though."

"What happened with your Grams?" Jeremy, as usual, looked clueless. "Did I miss something?"

"She went into hospital with a suspected heart attack," Bonnie filled him in. "It wasn't a heart attack, thank god, but she's still getting on sixty. I worry about her, even though she keeps telling me she's still got a lot of life in her yet."

"Her Grams used to tell us these amazing witch stories when we were children," Elena told Jeremy with a smile. "I passed them onto you, and I seem to recall at one point you genuinely believed she was a real witch."

"Elena!" Jeremy looked abashed, a playful scowl twisting his lips. "In my defence, that one time I came around hers, she was all dressed up in this kooky witch gear. My young mind was warped from that point onwards."

"It was Halloween, Jer. Newsflash – Bonnie isn't really a witch either, and I'm not really a vampire. They were _costumes._"

Jeremy scowled good-humouredly.

"Aw, Jer." Bonnie pinched his cheek, laughing when he blushed. "Does someone need the talk about what's real and what isn't? I trust you know about Santa, right?"

He playfully grabbed her hand, growling at her in a way which had her body bending backwards with genuine alarm, her lips curling into a smile as he pushed her gently towards the counter, his hands suddenly falling to her hips, her eyes aligned with his, and there was a moment that passed between them which felt new and strange. She couldn't explain it, but all she knew was that this had gone from a playful moment to something else entirely.

Elena missed it, however, as at that point she'd turned away, humming to herself with amusement as she continued tidying the shop up, which gave Bonnie and Jeremy plenty of time to adjust themselves, the atmosphere between them suddenly awkward, almost skittish.

"Where's Caroline? I thought she agreed to help us open shop for once?" she asked, turning back to notice her friend suddenly looked rather flustered.

"She – um – she said she had a meeting to go to. Something personal, I think," Bonnie replied, as smoothly as she could.

"Something personal?" Elena frowned. "Is she okay?"

"Fine. She was being all vague, which isn't Caroline at all, so I just dropped it, figuring if she wants to tell us she can."

"Probably best," Elena agreed. "Listen, do you mind closing shop tonight? I gotta duck out and take care of a personal errand."

That piqued Jeremy and Bonnie's attention, and for good reason.

Elena had made it a habit of staying late to shut the shop, sometimes using the time to scour the displays at all the books, sometimes basking in the quietness, which had a different atmosphere to the quietness which existed back home. That quietness was a lonely kind of quietness, the kind which frequently reminds you of where you are in life; the quietness she preferred was the kind where you could be anyone you wanted to be if you just let your imagination take over.

The point was she'd never let Caroline and Bonnie close up, not that they'd ever wanted to. They had their own lives to lead after all. Now she was breaking that habit it was bound to stir their curiosity.

"What personal errand would this be?" Bonnie asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Could this be a date of some kind?"

"I wish," Elena snorted, straightening a stack of books. "I don't have enough of a social life to have met a guy." She rounded on Jeremy. "Speaking of a social life, where's yours?"

Jeremy looked alarmed.

"What?"

"You shouldn't be lurking in bookshops. You should be out finding a girl. Preferably one who won't chew on your heart, then spit it out," she said, trying – and failing – to look stern.

"That's some messed up advice. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" Jeremy asked, frowning while at the same time lifting up his fringe, which always flopped in front of his eyes, before tucking it to the side.

"Maybe, but I kind of miss seeing you put yourself out there," she admitted. "Brothers and sisters at our age aren't supposed to be this close except during times of family emergencies."

"Well, we've never been one to stick to the norm, sis," he bragged, suddenly locking her in a headlock, which had her yelping with alarm.

"What are you, _five_?" she groaned, trying, and failing, to shake him off.

"Just proving that we're about as abnormal a family as we can get," Jeremy joked, his eyes finding Bonnie's again, noting with a shudder of strange pleasure that her eyes seemed to be dancing with amusement.

Elena used this moment of distraction to shake herself free, snorting at how immature they could both be, yet she relished it all the same given the fact despite the fact they were closer than ever both, they still lived at two ends of the same city. She wished he would drop by more for visits that didn't concern her business.

"Anyway, gotta shoot. Tyler's meeting me in about an hour. Gonna discuss costumes for Comic Con."

"Oh my God, you guys are actually going to that?" Bonnie looked, if possible, even more amused. "Why?"

"It's a chance to mingle with guys and girls who are just like us." Jeremy thumped his own chest. "The closeted cool kids."

"You mean nerds?" Elena clarified, raising a lone eyebrow, trying to resist the urge to comment.

"You can't judge, you're a girl who owns her own bookshop," Jeremy countered, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Touché." She'd let him have that victory. "You gonna visit Jenna at any point?"

"Eventually." Jeremy stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, suddenly back to looking aloof. "Is she doing okay, in all seriousness?"

"She'll be fine. Heartbreak is a tough thing to get over."

"You would know," Jeremy gently reminded her.

"And that's enough of our little talk." She gave him a gentle push to the door. "Bye-bye, Jer."

"Fine. I know where I'm not wanted," he huffed, looking mock hurt. "Catch you later, Bonnie."

Elena shook her head, loving that she and Jeremy were in this good place right now. At one point, Jeremy had threatened to cut her out of his life for good, so deeply in love with Vicki had he been. Vicki had been poisonous, whispering just the right words in Jeremy's ear to keep him around, and when people tried to intervene, those were the people she would try to turn Jeremy against, which usually worked. It had taken her a long time to get her brother to realise Matt wasn't an enemy, simply a concerned brother trying to help.

"What was that about?" Bonnie asked, sounding concerned.

Elena turned around, noticing her friend seemed to wear an expression of faint surprise and confusion.

"What was what?"

"Your brother offered you a chance to talk about ...you know... and you shot him down." Bonnie bit her lip. "Elena, it's been two years..."

"I know."

"Then why don't you talk about it? To _anyone_? Hell, I don't think I've even seen you cry about it." Bonnie sounded exasperated. "You need to deal with it, Elena."

"I have."

"Have you?" Bonnie gave her a stern look. "Because to my knowledge, you haven't cried or cursed or had revenge sex, or done any of the usual things we girls do to try and get over a man. You've just...accepted the fact he left you in the lurch without even questioning why."

"If I question it, Bonnie, I know what will happen," Elena fired back. "I will shut down, the way I did after Mom and Dad died. I don't want to go through that again. Sure, shutting out the pain isn't healthy at all, but if I even think about that night, I'll break down, and I have a business to run, so me falling apart isn't really on the cards right now, Bonnie, okay?"

"Okay, fine." Bonnie held her hands up, a clear sign of surrender. "Just know I'm not psychic and yet I can see this all blowing up in your face."

"And when that happens, you'll be there to tell me I was wrong and you were right, and you'll be the one whose shoulder I'll cry on." Elena smiled. "It's how we work, Bonnie."

"Be nice if it was the other way around for once," Bonnie grumbled, but the minor dispute was put aside, and at the same time they put on their show faces as they turned the closed sign into the open one.

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With a loud groan, Damon raised his head from his hands, trying to work out at what point he'd become a massive sell out. Surrounded by other cubicles, his own cluttered with paperwork that wouldn't matter nine, ten years down the line, he was beginning to think there was a reason why people in offices had a higher chance of becoming depressed. Every day was the same, there was no change in rhythm, and everyone he ever came into contact with pissed him off without even trying.

Distraction in the form of a phone call broke him out of his funk, particularly since nobody ever rang him on this line; he was the one always making the calls, a demand he'd given Stefan before working here because it gave him some semblance of control.

"Damon Salvatore speaking," he said curtly, immediately hating his "office voice".

Right now, actually, he seemed to be all the pieces of everybody's personality they disliked the most assembled into this paper pushing nobody who worked for his own brother. He had no voice anymore.

_"Damon, it's Andie, am I disturbing you?" _

He sat up at this.

Andie Starr was his publisher, the woman he'd been friends with since college, and in return for helping her out of a really bad situation, she'd agreed to look over some of his writings before deciding whether or not they were worth publishing. She was the one person who believed his writing was genuinely good, while no one else had given a damn about his talent enough to give him a try. She'd published a few dozen copies of each book, distributing them amongst friends she knew who worked in libraries and book shops, while holding a few back; for what, he had no idea, because the books had ultimately gotten little to no response, perhaps a mildly good review in a local newspaper somewhere.

Why she was contacting him now, during office hours, he had no idea.

"Actually, you're saving me from an afternoon of infinite boredom," he said, sinking back against the leather plush of his chair. "What can I do for you?"

_"I have some news, actually. Your books..."_

"Which books? The ones I'm trying to pretend don't exist because they're a public record of my failure as a man?" he spoke lightly, masking the pain excellently.

_"I like them, Damon. Get off that pony of yours and find yourself a high horse, because you need to give yourself credit where credit is due. I thought you might be interested to know I have records of someone buying your books. I wasn't able to pull up a name, but I thought this might – "_

"Might what? Kick me into writing again?" Damon wished Andie could see the disparaging look he was offering the phone; goodness knows this wasn't the first conversation they'd had revolving around this subject. "Somebody bought my books – good for them. Even if they made millions, I would still give you the same answer I'm going to give you now – I refuse to write again."

_"Yeah, and why is that again? The reasons you gave me last time were the reasons of a whiny little toddler who lost their favourite toy. I hope you have better reasons this time."_

"Are you this nice to all your clients? I fear you may drive them away with how much sugar you pour over your words."

_"You need a good dose of reality, Damon. You sound like you're in an office and you're miserable. Why don't you go back to doing what you love? I don't understand why you can't – "_

"I've told Stefan this, and I'll tell you again: I don't write for other people. If my miserable self refuses to write, let him be miserable. He might not be the life and soul of the party anymore, and he might hate himself for being that way, but it's his choice, Andie. It's not my passion anymore."

_"Nonsense. Something like that doesn't stop being your passion. You just make a big show of locking away everything to do with it so you're not tempted to revisit it again."_

Damon was now borderline irritated; one more word could push him over the edge if Andie wasn't careful.

"I don't write," he enunciated. "I am not a writer anymore. I am a man who is now like the rest of the world – a boring, paper-pushing, unimaginative soul who has a mortgage to pay, and a dream he used to care about."

_"Wow."_ Andie gave a sigh over the phone. _"I can see I'm getting absolutely nowhere with you – again. Listen, if you change your mind, I'll always be here for you, but until you get your head out of your ass, I can do nothing for you. I'm firing you as a client."_

"Can you even _do _that?"

_"Sure I can. You've made it perfectly clear you're not writing anything anymore, therefore any time I invest in you is a fruitless endeavour. Bye, Damon."_

He hung up the phone more savagely than was perhaps required.

How dare she presume anything about him? She had a lot more cheek than he'd ever realised. Perhaps that had been what had drawn her to him initially, but now her little quirks were just irritating.

Nonetheless, he couldn't deny a tiny spark of curiosity regarding the individual who'd bought his books. Had he or she known that was what they were buying? Did some big company somewhere, or a charity, buy them as some sort of consolation prize in a raffle? How humiliating if that were true. Regardless of his feelings about his books, they deserved a better fate than to end up in someone's attic somewhere, gathering dust.

He then realised Andie's phone call had stirred up some age old longing inside of him, and his irritation became anger in a blink.

Trying to look productive, he threw himself into work again, trying not to speculate who might've purchased his books and why. On the plus side, at least irritation and anger increased his work speed, but it meant he was done by four, and that wasn't the point of working here at all. He loved working late, just because it meant by the time he got home, it was night, and the houses was shrouded in darkness, hiding away everything that had ever once mattered so he couldn't get lost in pointless nostalgia.

But even Damon knew he couldn't hide himself at work forever, so with a grumpy sigh, he shuffled from his cubicle, and went to locate his car, completely missing the look his brother gave him as he passed him by, which consisted of his least two favourite expressions of all time.

Pity and worry.

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After slipping away from the shop, aware Bonnie and Caroline both had a thousand questions for her which would be addressed later no doubt, Elena hailed herself a taxi, and gave the driver the address she wanted to go. It was a good ten minutes drive from where her little bookshop was, and the familiarity of the address still haunted her, so on the drive she tried to look at the scenery around her to get a sense of where she was.

The memory suddenly came back the moment the driver pulled outside her destination, her eyes falling not on the publisher's itself but the shop next door.

This was where she and... This was where they'd purchased her engagement ring together, after he'd made the proposal sans an actual ring, confessing he wasn't sure the etiquette behind buying a ring. It hadn't mattered to her; the proposal itself had been quite a romantic occasion, so buying the actual ring itself was an easy task for her to undertake. She'd picked a simple gold banded ring, plated with a few blue sapphires, nothing too gaudy in stature or appearance. He'd then purchased the ring, re-proposed in the shop itself much to the surprise of the other customers, and she'd playfully kept him waiting until admitting she would marry him.

Elena paid her fare, stepping outside like she was moving through time, her movements slow and clumsy.

Honestly, she'd been so careful to avoid anywhere they'd been – their home excluded – she hadn't been prepared for the possibility that an accident could simply tip her in that direction. She swallowed loudly, painfully, each step taken feeling as though she was attempting to step over the Grand Canyon. There was a little switch inside her mind begging her to turn it off, begging her to hold on just a little longer before breaking down, if that's what this even was, and with a grimace, she did just that.

Starr Publishers was what she focused her attention on, the scarlet sign with faded gold lettering hardly something she could miss. However, it didn't seem to be an entire shop, just a door, suggesting the premises were upstairs. Taking a leap of faith in her own heart, Elena strode towards the door, opening it slowly, her eyes taking every detail in.

Her guess was right – there were stairs.

She took the stairs two steps at a time, eager to get in then out, her mind still a mess at unexpectedly arriving at memory lane. At the top of the stairs lay another door, which she pushed open, suddenly finding herself in an office, only it seemed empty, devoid of any life whatsoever.

It had the typical office format, desks, modern computers, giant printers, but there were a few homey touches she didn't quiet expect, such as little flower pots, calendars dotted around the walls of (presumably) famous people she'd never heard of.

"Can I help you?" came a polite voice, which made her flinch.

She turned to see a brunette woman dressed in a grey pencil skirt, a maroon, long sleeved top, fashioned together with a cute scarf around her neck, walking briskly towards her, her head tilted to one side, as if examining an exhibit in a museum. She couldn't have been older than thirty, but there were faint lines under her eyes which suggested stress, and Elena noticed the woman had a habit of biting her nails due to the less than immaculate condition of them.

"Hi," she said, slightly breathless. "Are you – Is it just you?"

"Sadly, yes," the woman drawled. "Sent everybody else home. Slow day, you know what I mean?"

Sadly, Elena had had plenty of those days as of late, so she nodded, smiling awkwardly.

"I know I'm asking a lot here, but I'm wondering if you could give me some information about an author whose work you publish," she said, wringing her hands, her entire demeanour not that much different from a school girl waiting outside the headmaster's office for a telling off.

"I can try," the other woman offered, "but there's only so much information I can offer, even after hours."

"I understand." Elena took a deep breath. "What do you know about Damon Salvatore?"

The woman seemed to appear curious for a moment after the question left her lips, before a look of surprise and delight shone into view.

"You bought his books," she stated, her tone taking Elena completely by surprise.

"Yes," Elena replied, a little cautious. "That surprises you? Are his books not popular?"

"They don't fly off the shelves, let's just leave it at that." The woman held out her hand. "I'm Andie Starr."

Elena shook her hand, encouraged by the woman's friendly demeanour.

"Elena Gilbert," she returned. "I know this might be asking too much, but is there any way I could meet him? I mean, does he do any public events or anything?"

To her surprise, Andie scribbled something on a piece of paper, shoving it into her hands.

"His address," she clarified, when she'd spotted the confused look on Elena's face. "Strictly speaking, I could get fired for handing out information like that, but Damon's an old friend, and I think this could be good for him."

Elena was surprised at the address when her eyes scanned it.

"That's here in the city? I had no idea he lived so close."

"Big fan, huh?"

"I love his writing, but I only recently discovered his books," she confessed. "They kind of...consumed me."

Andie laughed.

"Funny, I said almost the same thing when I read them. They take you to a new world, huh?"

"Yeah..." Elena swallowed, suddenly nervous again. "What's he like? Damon?"

"I'm afraid I can't divulge that, on the grounds that first impressions half the time are made up of other people's opinions," Andie said, sitting on the corner of her desk, her arms folded against her chest. "My first boyfriend, for example, heard all sorts of rumours about me before he even met me, and when we met for the first time, he had all these ideas and preconceptions that completely doomed our romance. Even when the rumours proved to be false, it wasn't enough to shake the suspicion from his mind." She shrugged. "His loss, but the point of what I'm saying is I could tell you everything there is to know about Damon, but I think you'll appreciate learning what he's like for yourself." She bit her lip before adding, "He is a good guy though, I will say that much for him."

Elena nodded, a part of wanting to back out of this whole situation and head home before more disappointment came her way. She'd built up a guy she didn't even know to be something incredible in her mind, but what if that wasn't the way he was at all? She'd heard once that writers often led more lives than anyone could've believed, because they chose to live vicariously through their work, through the characters they crafted and delivered to the world. This Damon guy could be someone awful who just happened to write with such incredible passion and fervour.

_Take a leap of faith, Elena, _her mom would've said. _Best case scenario, you get a potential ally who can help with your own writing, and possibly a new friend. Worst case scenario, at least you gave it a shot. That's all any of us can do in life._

"Thanks, Miss Starr," she said gratefully. "I really appreciate this."

"No problem." Andie gave her a friendly wink. "Hope you get everything you want from this visit."

"You and me both," Elena muttered, turning around slowly before turning and walking out of the door.

She hailed another taxi, giving him the address, her voice shaking with the delivery, nervousness wracking her entire body for some unknown reason. It was clear she wanted to make a good impression, but why Damon Salvatore had her all aquiver it was hard to say. She'd met a few authors in her time, none particularly well known, and they had all been polite, interesting and genuine people, but the advice they'd given her about writing had been all the same, something she could've looked up on the internet had she so desired. Something told her Damon would give her a completely refreshing outlook on the whole writing experience, because no man could write a bitter tale such as 1864 – which she had yet to finish, due to the fact the book had become so dark, she couldn't even imagine the possibility of a happy ending – without inserting some of his own real life drama into the bargain.

When the taxi pulled up outside the address, she stepped out, feeling like her legs had been replaced with jelly. The house she'd stepped in front of was by no means extraordinary. It was a house situated in a row of other houses, ivy climbing up one side of the building, the leaves magnificent shades of scarlet red to match the autumn feel of the city. The house itself was a pale white, which made the specks of weathering more evident than if it had been a shade darker, and the shutters on the bottom floor windows were coming loose, one of which had already come undone and was proceeding to swing back and forwards with the same speed as the wind, producing an alarmingly loud rattling sound.

The front garden, what little there was of it, was by no means in any better condition. There was a single pebbled path leading up to the house, with two separate strips of lawn on either side, which, in turn, were surrounded by patches of dirt where wilting flowers hung like lifeless bodies swinging from gallows. The odd shrubbery graced the presence of the garden, but even then they weren't particularly pretty; just cynical looking plants which threatened to engulf the rest of the natural scenery.

The sight of the house was intimidating, but it fascinated Elena nonetheless. If it had been a clean cut, no-nonsense looking house she might've had second thoughts about this entire endeavour. Houses like this showed a promising back story. Each fault, each speck of damage probably had a memory attached to it; it was a house that had been _lived _in, not merely used as a vessel for simply passing through life.

With a deep breath, she opened the iron gate at the foot of the pathway, connecting two hedgerows which clearly hadn't been trimmed in a while, and strode down the pathway, marching up to the door, hesitating for the briefest of moments before raising her fist and knocking sharply twice.

She heard a loud groan from the inside before there was the sound of footsteps shuffling towards the door. It opened with a large swing, and she was staring into the eyes of a man who seemed to redefine the term beauty.

Raven coloured locks surrounded a perfectly sculpted face guarding azure eyes, which were balanced overhead lips which were perfectly shaped to accommodate every set and shape of lips in the entire world. He was clad in a dark leather jacket, accompanied with a tight fitting dark shirt –presumably designer judging by the quality – and dark trousers; overall, there seemed to be a theme here which made breathing suddenly become a very difficult task to achieve.

He looked at her with an element of surprise coating his facial features, the right corner of his lips rising slightly, as if preparing to deliver a sarcastic smile depending on the next words to come out of her mouth. She lost the power of speech completely, her hand still positioned in the knocking motion, and everything she'd ever wanted to say suddenly became a garbled language she couldn't understand anymore. No words would ever sound comprehensible again in front of this man. Why had she even undertaken this foolhardy task? It was surely mental suicide.

"Um, hi," she managed to get out, and immediately felt herself flush at this atypical way of greeting which had slipped through her lips.

"Hi," he drawled, giving her a once over, his lips finally relenting a smirk. "Which foolish errand blew you my way then? Was it my brother? Did he send you to try and 'cheer me up'?"

She stiffened, immediately insulted by the implication that she was there to be his "company" for the evening. This gave her the courage to push this insult aside, take another deep breath, before beginning to address the reason why she was here.

"Mr Salvatore," she began, "that is, I'm presuming you a_re _Mr Salvatore...Mr Damon Salvatore that is..."

"The hotter, better, superior Salvatore brother," he said lazily, "but otherwise your presumption is accurate. I am Damon Salvatore."

Elena felt herself release the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"My name is Elena Gilbert," she said boldly, "and I've read your books, and I..."

A cold look suddenly drew over Damon's face, hardening his features, a frosty glaze coating his eyes. She looked at the hand which rested against the door – it was shaking slightly. Every part of him was now on edge, leaving her voice to trail off, her own body shaking at how very badly this had all gone.

"Sorry, but I don't talk about my books, so if you're here for a signing or whatnot, or some pointers on how to improve your own writing, which I'm sure is _just amazing _according to your friends, but which probably most resembles the writing standard of a children's author, I'm sorry but you've wasted your time."

And with that cold statement, he closed the door on her stunned face.

* * *

A/n: So Damon's an ass lol. But don't worry, Elena isn't about to let him get away with treating her that way. Hope you enjoyed the sprinkling of Beremy in this chapter. This is one of those rare fics where I know what's going to happen to each character at any given moment, but the primary focus of course will be on Elena and Damon so thank you for the reviews, I hope you continue enjoying this story as it progresses.


	4. A Matter of Pride

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 4

A Matter of Pride

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Elena stood there, frozen, humiliation spreading across her cheeks like wild fire, hurt forming in the base of her stomach so that she stood there, jaw lack, looking shocked.

Maybe her expectations had been too high, but she'd certainly not expected to have been insulted and rejected like this, like she was beneath Damon Salvatore. Hurt quickly evolved into anger; her fists curled by her sides because she was _not_ going to stand for this. She was not by any means a confrontational person, but this guy had rattled her, and regardless of her feelings about his writing, the fact her first impression of him was that he was a jackass had riled her up in all the wrong ways.

She knocked on his door again, making sure he could hear the anger channelled into each knock and, sure enough, he opened the door, his cold eyes once again giving her the once over.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"You want to try that again?" she spat, infuriated.

He actually looked taken aback by her response.

"What?"

"You want to try letting me down in a way that _doesn't _make you come across as a complete pig?" she said, managing to come out with a sarcastic politeness Bonnie would've been impressed with.

Damon smiled sarcastically.

"Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked, mocking her. "I'm sorry. Now go take off those rose tinted glasses you wear in order to view the world, and get off my property. I don't have time for people like you."

"People like _me_?" She was tempted to laugh; what did her appearance exactly imply about her personality? "Mind clarifying for the simple minded?"She gave him a dose of his own mockery, watching as a stunned smile crossed his face for half a second before he allowed the spite to fall into place again. "Or do you not have _time_?"

"I've had people harassing me about writing some new material for years," he replied, his voice thick with ice. "I assume you're the cheap trick Andie tossed my way in a last ditch effort to keep her favourite client?"

Elena pinched the ridge of her nose, trying not to lose her temper.

"You know there isn't a single part of that sentence that doesn't offend me," she retorted. "I came here to say I enjoyed your books, and maybe I was hoping for some pointers, but I sure as hell won't bother asking now I've seen your true colours." She looked to the ground for half a second, before turning her attention to Damon, who was still looking at her without a trace of interest. "I hope whoever screwed you up so bad to make you write '1864' – a book clearly based on you - is suffering, because no matter who their readers are, a real author is grateful for any attention their novels receive."

And she turned on her heel, making her way back down the path, deeply humiliated, the only thing causing her to pause was the slight trace of vulnerability in Damon's voice as he asked:

"What makes you think that book was based on me?"

She stopped at the gate, searching the skies for the strength to give this man a second more of her time, before turning back, faltering slightly at the fact his cold detachment was slightly faded, and he actually looked faintly interested, if not slightly desperate to hear her reasoning behind her last statement.

"It was an assumption by the first paragraph, but by the time I reached the last but one chapter, I realised it was accurate," she said shortly. "I haven't been able to bring myself to read the last chapter just yet."

"Just as a matter of curiosity, which brother did you - ?"

"Did I root for?" Elena finished coolly. "I know which answer you want me to give, Mr Salvatore, but I think I've been insulted enough for one day, so I would like to say I'm sorry that I wasted yours and my time here. I made a fool of myself, that much is clear." She struggled with herself for a moment before adding, "But I will add, David Sanders' struggle with identifying himself throughout the book did reach to me on a level I can't quite understand. The fact he's the older brother and yet feels inferior in every way is quite a modern portrayal of a past reality, so that was what made me believe this was more than just fiction for you. It was a way of channeling a bitter feud into a way you could cope with it, only you're not coping at all, and that's why you push people away." She looked at him; he seemed to be actually stunned, and she couldn't help feeling satisfied that her analogy skills were far from rusty. "David Sanders holds onto the memory of his mother before his brother came along, because it's a reminder of the simplest time when he was the one being showered with unconditional love, and it's the last time he was ever sure of himself." She gave Damon a hard look. "Maybe that's just me with my _rose tinted glasses _though, using a _cheap trick _to try and get you to sign a copy of your book."

As she walked away, she couldn't help tossing a final derivative comment in Damon's direction.

"You should know, Mr Salvatore, of all people never to judge a book by its cover, or take it as the only representation of what's inside."

She felt a small smile of vindication cross her lips at finally getting to put her views across, but it was immediately countered by that gut-wrenching sense of feeling like she'd made a bad situation even worse.

There was clearly something screwed up about Damon, but maybe the way to dealing with that wasn't by throwing his own words – and logic – against him.

Then again, she'd had little to no experience in dealing with the problems the men in her life could bring in a way which didn't ultimately push them away for good.

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"What. An. Ass," was Jenna's conclusion as she and Elena settled down on the sofa, each nursing a glass of wine. "Was he at least hot?"

"_Ridiculously _hot," Elena sighed, "which, in an ideal world, should balance out the fact he's an ass, but it doesn't."

She'd confided in her aunt, deciding she needed to talk to someone who'd relatively be free of bias. Caroline would've simply judged her for not jumping his bones regardless of his attitude problem, and Bonnie would've sung her praises for giving him a scolding, neither reaction she felt would've done anything to put the whole incident out her mind.

"Sounds like damaged goods if you ask me," Jenna put in, leaning against her elbow, her red curls cascading down her like a monsoon of ribbons. "Speaking from experience, men who are damaged goods tend to be the ones you really want, but they always end being the ones who break your heart, ironically to try and save you from heartbreak because they believe they'll never be good enough for you."

Elena nodded absent-mindedly, pondering this very thought herself. She wasn't really sure what had struck her the most about Damon, the fact it was obvious that he was trying to push people away, or the fact he seemed almost...surprised when she'd guessed the truth about why that was. Maybe he wasn't such a icy character deep down; time and love had probably shaped him into that character, and he just found it easier to be that way.

Well she wasn't going to see him again, so whatever issues he had, he could work through himself. She'd humiliated herself enough for a stupid hope that hadn't panned out at all, so rather than brooding over it she would just cut her losses and move on.

"So how's day one of Getting Over Logan going?" she asked Jenna.

"Sixteen missed calls and fourteen messages should tell you how _he's_ handling it," Jenna replied, with a dark smile. "As for me, I'm...getting through it. Trying to look for a job here in the city. Thought it would be easier. Like thinking Logan was a good man, I was dead wrong."

"What are you thinking of doing?"

"Well, I suppose I could find another teaching assistant job, but that's not my passion," Jenna said with a sigh. "I have no idea what my passion even is, just that it's not teaching."

"I'm sure you'll find something, Jenna." Elena gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "In the meantime, Matt probably has a job going in his bar. He likes you, so he'd definitely take you on."

"A pity job?" Jenna groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Has it really come to this?"

Elena grinned.

"We've all been desperate enough to take 'em, Jenna."

"Yes, but I graduated from college with a degree. The days of taking pity jobs are supposed to be over," Jenna bemoaned.

"Okay, enough of us moaning about our tragic lives." Elena immediately flicked on the television, still grinning widely, all the stresses of the day stored in the back of her mind. "Let's watch some guilty pleasure girl movies, starting with _Bridesmaids..._"

"Alright, but if during this marathon I get weepy and try to call Logan, you have my permission to confiscate my phone and beat me senseless with the object of your choice."

"Deal."

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At his local bar, Damon had been staring into his bourbon for a good five minutes, random thoughts flicking across his mind in an endless montage which had no particular purpose except reminding him of how much he sucked.

"Thought I'd find you here," came a familiar voice.

"This is where we first met, remember?" Damon muttered, avoiding the eyes of his best friend – his only friend, probably – Alaric Saltzman.

"Ah yes, back when you were an ass, and I couldn't stand you. Good times."

A small smile graced Damon's features.

His back story with Alaric was somewhat twisted, even for him. One night after Katherine had broken his heart, he'd found himself at a loss for what to do, so he'd taken up drinking as a hobby. He found his perfect bar, started flirting with this beautiful girl with dark hair and a coy smile to make any man weak at the knees, until a sandy haired individual with an angry look in his eyes had stormed over, saying that that girl he was flirting with was his girlfriend.

In short, Damon's actions had split the couple up within a few days, leading the sandy haired man to join him in his drinking sessions. At first, they'd been sullen with each other, Alaric even once resorting to punching him when taunting words had slipped Damon's lips because he just couldn't resist being an ass and kicking someone when they were down, but eventually Alaric had confessed Damon's actions had confirmed what he'd already suspected, that his girl – Isobel – wasn't happy with him, and in a weird way he had him to thank for breaking up an apparently loveless relationship, at least on the side of one individual. Eventually, they'd struck up a weird friendship, one that continued to baffle him even to this day, but he appreciated the company, and he appreciated the miracle that was Alaric Saltzman, history teacher extraordinaire, who could keep up with his wit and see right through him on the days he wasn't himself, like today for example, when all he could think about the was the girl with the eyes like fudge, and a tongue as sharp as any blade.

"I thought you'd given up drinking," Alaric commented dryly.

"I had. I didn't want to be _that _guy," Damon mumbled, nursing his bourbon.

"You mean the guy who comes home to a glass not a woman?" Alaric filled in, "Buddy, I am that guy. You're not alone."

"I appreciate the moral support." Damon gave him a sarcastic smile. "I'm a little on edge, as you can probably tell."

"So I gathered. What's wrong?"

"A woman."

Alaric spat out the drink he'd just ordered.

Damon looked blankly at him.

"Why do you find that so unbelievable?"

"Because you don't talk about women. _Ever._ The last woman I saw you with was my soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, Isobel," Alaric replied, shock featured in the corners of his eyes. "You don't womanise, never flirt with any of the bar staff here – and there are some beauties here, I can tell you – and that surprises me given the fact not one woman here would turn you down. I've seen the looks you get."

"Nobody interests me, that's why."

"Nonsense. You're just stubborn and won't admit you haven't let go of Katherine. You punish yourself for what happened. I don't understand why, but that's the truth."

Damon groaned, finishing his drink as he promptly ordered another.

"I wish we were still enemies. That way I could punch you and not feel guilty about it."

Alaric grinned.

"You know I could take you."

"Yeah, in your dreams."

"So tell me about this woman. If she's got you drinking, I like her already."

"Her name is Elena." Damon inwardly groaned at the fact saying her name gave him an unexpected jolt of pleasure; it was so pretty a name, and it didn't help the face more than lived up to her name. "I have no idea how she got my address, but all of a sudden she knocked on my door, telling me about my books and I..." He groaned into his hands. "I kind of slammed the door in her face."

There was a pause.

"Smooth," Alaric quipped, extremely sarcastic. "I bet that had her fawning over you."

"Actually, the opposite. It had her pissed off to the point where I got lectured in my own front yard," Damon hissed, finding the energy to be irritated again. "She was so..." He gave a loud growl to express his emotions, much to his friend's amusement. "I've never met a woman so condescending in my entire life."

"If I may interject a small point in her favour..."

"You may not."

Alaric ignored him.

"I think she had every right to be annoyed when you slammed the door in her face. You earned that lecture, Damon. Why was she even there?"

"I – "

"Did you ask her?"

"Well, no..."

"You asshole." Alaric paid for his next drink even though he hadn't finished the first. "Where's the Salvatore charm you keep bragging about? Did you at least apologise for being so rude?"

"Um..."

"Thought as much."

"I thought you were supposed to be _my _friend. That entitles you to at least _pretend _you're on my side!" Damon scowled. "I might have to advertise for a new friend – you clearly suck at this."

"I am your friend, Damon, but the fact is it is very concerning that I'm your _only _friend," Alaric said, sounding exasperated. "I have my colleagues at work, some old friends from school who I occasionally see when I'm not listening to you whine about your problems. Who else do you have apart from me? It wouldn't hurt for you to extend your social circle a bit, you know. Actually, right now it's more of a social _dot_."

"Thanks for your input," Damon snapped. "I'm fine with just one friend. I don't need any more."

Alaric lost the exasperation, instead electing to give Damon a concerned look.

"You went through a bad break up. It happens. But you need someone in your life, Damon. Doesn't have to be a girlfriend. You just need someone who'll put up with your crap better than I can. From the sound of things, this girl did just that today. I feel almost paternal towards her."

"Ew."

"Grow a pair, Damon. At least find her out and apologise for your behaviour."

"Why?" Damon demanded. "She clearly doesn't need my apology. She can handle herself just fine without it."

"Yet here you are drinking away your sorrows because you might just feel bad for tearing her down," Alaric pointed out. "Look, you don't want to tell me what happened, that's fine, but you feel, Damon. You're a dick, and I'm still deciding whether to call you a friend or not, but I still see something human in you. You're not the monster you pretend to be, so stop pushing people away for the sake of your pride."

"Oh I'm way too sober for this conversation," Damon muttered, finishing another drink, before gesturing towards the bar man who'd caught his eye.

"Yes, gentlemen, I'm presuming you want the same," the bartender said, as cheerfully as he could given the fact he was stuck in a job he really hated.

"Thank you, Mr Donovan," Damon taunted, returning his empty glass.

"Call me Matt, or I'm cutting you off," Matt threatened, but only halfheartedly, knowing the ways of Damon Salvatore.

"Ah you wouldn't do that. I'm your best customer."

"Ah, but I would, and you know it." Matt still wasn't sure what to make of Damon, even after all these months serving him drinks, but what he did know made him want to stay on his good side. "Anything for you, Mr Saltzman?"

"Call me, Ric." Alaric gave Damon a sidelong glance. "This ass does."

Damon rolled his eyes.

"Right." Matt grinned at them both, handing them drinks as he wiped down the bar. "So, what's got you so irritated tonight? You look pissed."

"It's a _woman,_" Alaric sung.

"No way."

"Way."

"Ugh, could you two just get a room? Your cute banter makes me want to projectile vomit," Damon groaned, resting his head against his arms.

"What's her name?" Matt teased, leaning against the bar, looking intrigued.

Damon didn't know why he bothered coming here. The bartender was nosy beyond belief, and his best friend was someone he either loved or hated, depending on his mood.

"All I've got from him so far was that he slammed the door in her face when she found his house, and that he was very rude to her," Alaric listed, "oh, and that she scolded him like he was a child, so at least we know she can tolerate his bullshit."

"Sounds like a winner to me," Matt agreed.

"She's a whiny brat who happened to get a lucky shot in," Damon mumbled, his wounded eyes doing nothing to stifle the gleeful comments of Alaric and Matt. "God, I wish Elena Gilbert had never walked up to my house."

While Alaric seemed to continue hooting at his best friend's misery, Matt had suddenly straightened up, a dark look haunting his features. He was twenty-six, and so far life had handed him nothing but disappointment after disappointment. He had a sister whose whereabouts remained unknown, a mother who he barely had contact with, and the one small blessing he did have was a friend whose patience and guidance he couldn't have done without. To hear, then, how one of his customers had treated her made his blood boil, and Damon soon picked up on the fact that something he'd said had pissed off the bartender.

"Elena Gilbert?" Matt questioned ferociously. "Is this the girl this asshole treated so rudely? Elena Gilbert?"

"You know her?"Damon didn't know whether this gave him hope or another reason to drink himself into oblivion. "How?"

"We grew up together," Matt said flatly, his friendly demeanour gone at once. "I look out for her. Have done ever since we were little."

Damon glanced down at the remainder of his drink, realising this was probably going to be the last drink he'd ever have here.

"You're cutting me off, aren't you?"

"Yep. I could bar you, but this place needs all the customers it can get." Matt threw him a sour look. "So I'm gonna tell you where she works. You're going to apologise. Then you're going to walk out of her life for good."

"Am I now?" Damon sneered at the bartender. "Or I could simply find a new bar."

"You could," Matt said matter-of-factly. "But I could contact every bar and restaurant in the city and just tell them not to serve you. Give them a picture so they know who to look out for."

"Why is this so important to you? She's just a girl," Damon spat, thoroughly pissed off.

"Because she's a special girl, and whatever her reasons for coming to you were, they had to have been important," Matt said stoically. "So stop the pity act and man up. You just have to apologise. Then you can be done with her."

There was a tense moment where Damon contemplated using a right hook to refuse Matt's offer, but he thought about all the times Matt had called taxis to drag his sorry ass home after a heavy night's drinking session and figured maybe he owed the guy a little.

"Okay," he exhaled, "where does she work?"

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She'd had this night time ritual ever since her parents' deaths. She would brush her teeth, tie her hair back, get changed, and then look at the photo she loved most about them, the one of them on a family holiday where her dad had grabbed her mom around the waist, tickling her until she laughed, and the camera had captured that moment beautifully. She would pretend they were there, and she would give them one highlight of her day followed by a wish, and it'd become a habit she'd found hard to break.

Tonight was no exception.

"So today I met this guy," she said, holding the frame in her hand, a sad smile in place. "And he was the rudest guy I've ever met. And I stood up for myself, told him to stop being a pig and basically yelled at him for the way he treated me. Should've felt good, right? Truthfully, it didn't. Okay, he deserved it, but there's something kind of sad about an author who gets so uptight about his own work to the point where he shuts down completely when you try and talk about it. I should leave it alone, I really should, but I guess my wish would be that I could know a little more about him, find a side to him which doesn't make me wanna punch him in the face." She sank onto her bed, adding another truth which she'd only just realised today. "I know I should be writing this all down instead of talking to a photo, but I realised something today - I'm not very good at letting go. I pretend I am. I lie to the world, tell everybody I'm fine, and most people believe me. But the truth is I haven't been fine since the night of the accident, and I feel like I won't ever be fine again, and the closest I came to feeling like I might be okay again was when I stood up to a guy I didn't even know and told him what I should be telling myself - to stop judging books by their covers. And today, I made a snap judgement. He was rude and arrogant, sure, but that's not the man I imagined writing all these wonderful books.

"Truthfully, I walk by men all the time in the street and I judge them without thinking, wondering which of them have women back home, wondering whether they love them, making up stories about the kind of lives they might lead, and that might be a sad way to live. But it's better than trying to come up with the reasons why the only man I ever loved could walk out of my life without a second glance, and that is why I judge people, even though I try not to. I judge so when I get disappointed, at least I can tell myself I knew all along, instead of believing a lie. I try to figure people out so they can't figure me out and find a reason to walk away."

She sighed again.

"Maybe Bonnie's right. Maybe I need to stop holding it all in, stop pretending I'm not still hurting from the past. But the thing is, all I know how to do is hold it all in. How would I even try to go about talking to someone about all of this? It's too much to bear alone, but I couldn't put this on someone else, not even my best friends. Jeremy... he went through a rough patch after you guys died, but he came out the other side even stronger. Maybe I needed a breakdown so that I could fix myself back up again, don't know... It's probably too late for one now." She gave a nervous laugh. "I'm broken, and I just... I don't know how to deal with that. The weirdest part was it took seeing another broken person to realise it."

Without another word – because she didn't have the energy to pour her heart out to a photo of two individuals who couldn't help her anymore – she tucked the photo back on her window frame and climbed into the forever cold double bed, which at first she'd avoided like the plague after he'd left. Now, as long as she stuck to her side and didn't stray, she could pretend it had always been this way; that no one had ever occupied the other side of the bed; that no arms had once snaked around her waist pulling her over to the other side.

One day she would wake up and this would all come slapping her in the face at a breathtaking speed, but until that day came, she could live in denial that little bit longer.

As she drifted off to sleep, Elena couldn't help wondering whether Damon had done the same, telling himself that he wasn't hurt over and over again until it became something he believed, and that denial he buried himself in was the only thing protecting him from going over the edge, not unlike herself.

Because sometimes life was so cruel, denial was the equivalent of a safety blanket, cushioning you from the fall, and it was all she could do to hold onto it for as long as she could before she had to face reality.

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A/n: Big thank you to all who have reviewed/faved/alerted this story so far. You are amazing. Hope I'm keeping the characters you know and love relatively close to the people they are on the show. We will eventually get snippets of the lives of people other than Damon and Elena, and I promise you down the line we will learn the truth about what happened with Elena's fiancée. Thank you all for being amazing readers to write for.


	5. Words, Words, Words

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 5

Words, Words, Words

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"It's a really good book. It's about the power of reading and what one man's voice is capable of pulling out of a book," Elena was telling a girl of about nine or ten, who held a copy of _Inkheart _in her hands. "It focuses on a girl and her father and their adventures with the characters he manages to read into life from right between the pages."

"Sounds tacky," the mother sniffed, sounding haughty, her eyes clearly saying she didn't want to be here at all.

"_Mom_," her daughter whined. "Let me choose my book in peace. You said I could get one."

"Look, you chose to come here, darling, instead of one of those big corporate chains," her mother hissed, "no offence," she added, giving Elena a contemptuous look. "This would be over sooner if this place was better organised. And aren't all these titles available on those electronic pads anyway? Books are rather redundant if you ask me."

Elena resisted the urge to slap this woman silly.

Her bookshop wasn't perfect, but it _was_ organised, at least in a way which made it stand out. While other shops organised books by author, title or popularity, hers organised the books by theme, and while there were crossovers, she seemed reasonably happy with the way it look overall.

The dark green bookshelves gave the shop a kind of jungle feel, which made sense, given the fact delving into a new book often felt like delving into foreign territory. Posters of the newest books, or the theme – which due to lack of inspiration had turned into heroes and villains after all as opposed to the underappreciated book theme she'd thought of - hung around the shop in various places. Jeremy had made a fantastic vertical banner of Katniss from The Hunger Games, which hung near the very front of the shop to attract potential customers, while Tyler had concentrated on the villains, a looming poster of Voldemort featured at the very back where the fantasy genre section lay. Bonnie and Caroline, with their own money no less, had, in record time, ordered cardboard cut-outs of some of the well known heroes and villains from the film version of books – such as Harry Potter and Voldemort, Edward Cullen and the Volturi etc – and displayed them prominently around the room.

In short, everything looked amazing, which wasn't a surprised because Elena had a great team working with her.

How anyone could complain, therefore, was beyond her understanding. She'd made it clear from the start this wasn't about reaping in money but about making buying books an adventure. The customers they did have usually proved to be loyal; the rare times a new customer came in, they were usually dazzled into coming back. Complainers, unless their complaints were about a healthy and safety issue, were usually not tolerated, but still she did her best to accommodate their needs.

"What books do you enjoy?" Elena asked the girl, electing to ignore the mother entirely.

"Adventure books with a girl who kicks butts in it!"

"_Jennifer! _Really!"

Elena smirked.

That was the thing with children - most people underestimated them, but, like books, they always had the tendency to surprise you at any given moment.

"You ever read the Hunger Games?" she asked.

"I don't want her reading that sort of material," the mother, a bushy haired, dark eyed woman, who had clearly not understood that when it came to make up, there were limits. "It promotes violence."

"If you read the books, I'm sure you'd find that isn't the case at all," Elena said, fighting to keep her tone polite. "It promotes female independence, friendship, courage, and teaches us that though the odds may not always be in our favour," here she delivered a wink in the direction of the young girl, who smiled brightly, catching the reference which answered her earlier question, "there's nothing more important than love and courage, even in a world where showing such things can lead to death."

"Come on, Jennifer, we're leaving," the woman insisted, looking offended for no apparent reason, her daughter putting the copy of _Inkheart _away, her eyes downcast which made Elena feel inexplicably sad.

Even in today's world, some children were actively denied the basic right of being able to read whatever they wanted to simply because some books contained themes parents disapproved of. _Well, tough cookies_, Elena thought to herself; _you only got out of books what you wanted to get out of them_. Once, she and Bonnie had had an extensive debate on whether or not the Dursleys in the Harry Potter world were entirely irredeemable, with Elena arguing that they weren't, and Bonnie completely going against her. In the end, they'd settled on a compromise of thinking that while the Dursleys had been horrible towards Harry, and though they were ignorant and cruel, their behaviour came down to them being simply so set in their ways that any sort of change would've unsettled them; it was just an unhappy set of events that Harry happened to be related to them.

The obnoxious mother and her daughter were the last of her customers before she closed the shop for lunch. Normally, she would've kept it open because she couldn't have afforded to do otherwise, but with Bonnie and Caroline mysteriously elsewhere, and with no one else to mind the shop for her, she had no choice but to close it for an hour. On these occasions, she would close it for the night an hour later than normal to try and counterbalance, but even still it was hard to make up those hypothetical lost customers, as lunchtime was usually the busiest time of the day.

She changed the shop sign from open to closed, grabbing a broom from the other side of the room to sweep up any remnants of the street which had wound up in here. So preoccupied was she in her task of cleaning the shop before heading out for a spot of lunch that she failed to hear the bell of the door ring as it opened until she turned her head, her eyes widening at the sight of Damon Salvatore standing there, dressed in a dark brown leather jacket accompanied by a bottle green, borderline black, shirt underneath.

It wasn't fair that he was here, nor was it fair that even on her territory he still looked incredible. His hair looked as if someone had tousled it playfully, with odd strands here and there sticking up in a haphazard manner.

"Mr Salvatore," she greeted, unable to stop the scowl from falling into place. "You'll notice I've just closed shop for lunch, so..."

"So, this is your business?" he asked, gesturing around in a way that seemed so condescending, she felt her blood begin to boil. "A little bookshop? Well, that's quaint."

"Quaint it may be, but it's my baby, so if you're done patronising it, I'd like you to leave please," Elena said coolly.

He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, one hand leaping to the back of his head, making a light scratching motion, as if he was perplexed about something. His ocean blue eyes landed on hers, the sheer power behind them slightly intoxicating. They weren't even ocean blue, but rather a mixture of metallic grey and powder blue, but perhaps ocean blue was a better description given the fact they had the power to pull you in and push you away.

"I came to apologise," he said, once he was done with his obvious procrastination, which had involved staring aimlessly around the room, occasionally picking up the odd book before putting it down somewhere completely different, much to her exasperation.

"For what?" She stared at him, her eyes ruthless, her mouth pressed into a flat line. "For humiliating me? For making me feel like I was three inches tall? For _insulting _me? You'll have to be more specific."

"For all of the above," Damon admitted, and she had the terrible feeling he wasn't doing this for the right reasons at all, yet still she let him continue, if only to see if she was right with the idea that perhaps this was all an act. "I had no right to treat you that way. It was inexcusable."

"Maybe not inexcusable," she countered fairly. "But I'd believe your apology more if I knew the reasons behind it. And I'd also like to know how the hell you even found me?" She squared up to him, glaring at him, making sure he could see she wasn't to be pushed around. "Who told you where I worked?"

There was a pause.

"Matt. It was your friend, Matt." Was she imagining the bitterness in his tone? Maybe not. "His bar is my regular spot."

"So let me guess. You were complaining about me, he overheard you mention my name, got all defensive and snippy, and threatened to bar you unless you apologised. Is that the measure of it?"

Damon looked stunned by her intuition, which should've made her feel vindicated, only it didn't. For an unfathomable reason, she felt slightly sympathetic towards his plight; he clearly didn't want to be here, doing this, and although that was an insulting fact in and of itself, she also knew she couldn't accept an apology from him this way. She wanted it to be real.

"Matt looks out for me," she said, feeling the need to point this out. "We've been friends a long time. I don't care that you felt the need to complain about me in front of whoever you were with at the time, but Matt does. As far as he's concerned, I'm a saint. I'm not, but he believes I am, and so you'd probably do better bitching in someone else's bar."

She released her soft brown hair from the bun she'd kept it in all day, letting the soft strands fall past her face. Some might've commented to always have it straight was boring, that it was a safe style, but that was who she was – safe, possibly boring to boot, but at least that meant she wasn't constantly being eyed up by unrestrained brutes. This city was full of men who fit that description.

"Elena..."

She peered up at Damon with resigned eyes. She didn't want to do this here, in the middle of her sanctuary. He was staring now with eyes which seemed to be cold – always cold – but she could see specks of warmth here and there, and one side of his mouth was downturned, almost as if he had no idea what emotion to display here.

She wasn't going to help him in that department.

Elena scurried to the counter to pick up her keys so she could lock up after herself, only to find when she'd turned around, Damon had picked up a book, appearing slightly mesmerised by it. Intrigued by what could've caught his attention, she wandered over, smiling at the choice of book he'd picked up.

"The Return of the King?" she mused, taking the book from him. "Figures."

He looked confused, turning towards her.

"Figures_ what_?"

"You're a guy who likes his fantasy novels," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "All the guys I get in here tend to buy all the dark fantasy novels. I don't see the appeal myself, but there we go..."

"You don't read J.R.R. Tolkien?" Damon asked, sounding bewildered. "And you call yourself a bookworm?"

"I tried once. I won't deny his use of language is fantastic, but I really struggled with all the characters," Elena admitted. "I got lost trying to figure out who was what."

Damon shook his head, his expression dissolving back into one of mild distaste, as if realising he was actually engaging in conversation, therefore coming across as a reasonable human being.

"I don't read so much anymore, but these books were what helped me through an extremely difficult phase in my teens."

"You? A difficult teen? Hard to imagine," she teased, sidling past him to try and reorganise what his casual browsing had messed up.

"I said _difficult phase_, not that I was a difficult teen," Damon muttered grouchily.

"Why don't you read any more?" She was a sucker for a lost cause, and hell, she could do with indulging herself with trying to make him explain himself a little more, seeing how she still had absolutely no idea how to interact with him. "I can't think of a time in my life when I wasn't reading."

Except she could... but she wasn't going to even think about telling him that.

"Some of us aren't that smitten with the written word anymore."

"Or you are but you just don't let yourself read anymore because it might tempt you back into writing," she pointed out.

His lips curled into a reluctant smile, the first genuine one she believed she'd seen from him.

"Are you always such a know-it-all?"

"Careful, Mr Salvatore, you might get yourself banned from here with that _extensive _vocabulary of yours."

She may have been mocking him - and slightly enjoying herself while she was doing so.

"Oh no, a ban from a little known bookshop. How will I survive?" he responded, his mocking tone parroting hers.

Her smile faded.

"Well, now you've said your fake apology, there's no reason for you to hang around here anymore," she said pointedly, her eyes drifting back and forth from the door meaningfully.

She was getting tired of the banter, truthfully, especially when the man she was bantering with didn't seem to be able to stop himself from mocking every aspect of her life.

"It wasn't a fake apology." He sounded insulted by the insinuation. "I meant it."

"Really?" She gave him a dubious look. "So this is _nothing _to do with Matt threatening to bar you from the one place you call a sanctuary unless you make peace with me? Don't insult my intelligence, _Damon_. I know how this works." She walked towards the door. "Allow me to show you out. I'm heading out myself."

"It's only lunchtime."

"Hence the reason I'm closing. I need to grab some food otherwise I won't be able to function listening to another person criticising my choices," she huffed.

How had they gone from passive aggressive behaviour, to borderline banter, to hostile commentary? She'd enjoyed the sight of him smilingly fondly at a book, she would admit, but it would take more than nostalgic curiosity to get her to warm to him. Maybe she could've moved past the way he'd treated her if it wasn't for the fact she knew he wasn't here on his own terms. She had to be grateful towards Matt for trying to make things right, but this wasn't the way to do it at all.

"I could buy you lunch somewhere," Damon offered, annoyingly hovering by her side even as she walked out of the shop and locked up. "Make up for my rude behaviour?"

She eyed him.

"Did Matt tell you to do that too?" she asked suspiciously.

"Actually he told me to apologise and then walk out of your life for good." Damon shrugged. "I never was one for listening to other people."

"And yet you're here all the same."

"I need my bar, Elena. You're the only thing standing in my way of getting it back."

She was back to scowling.

"Do you have a mute button or something? Or, at least, a filter which forbids you from saying anything offensive?"

Damon sighed heavily.

"I didn't mean – Damn it, Elena, I'm not good at this."

"Apologising, or filtering out offensive comments?"

"Apologising," he managed to get out, frustrated at how he seemed to be losing this battle of wits with this woman. "I don't know what you want me to say or do to make things right."

She inhaled, a look of deliberation crossing her face for a moment. On the one hand, she could make him suffer, string him along just for the pleasure of it, but that would mean she was no better than Vicki. On the other hand, she had no idea why but she had this inexplicable need to connect with him on some level. Aside from his ridiculously stunning looks, it was hard to explain to herself why he seemed to stick in her mind, but she had to go with the fact that right now, he was on her territory. And clearly there was some hope left in him; she'd seen the nostalgia on his face after thumbing through some of the books in her shop. He missed the whole experience of it all - he just couldn't let himself enjoy it anymore. There was something tragically beautiful about that.

"You can buy me lunch," she said after a while, "on the condition that you cut this _I-don't-want-to-be-a-nice-guy _crap. I want to see the real you, even if he's a dick as well. If I see one piece of evidence that the guy who wrote those fantastic books exists, I'll forgive you and we can move past this. If I don't, at least I know I tried."

"And how will you know him if you see him?" he asked, smirking, though his eyes remained as cold as ice, which unnerved her. "You don't know a damn thing about that guy at all."

"Maybe not, but I'll know him when I see him..."

He grabbed her arm, not roughly but in a way which had her inhaling sharply, her russet eyes narrowing into slits, waiting for his next move.

"This isn't some cute romantic date from a movie," he said, soft but firm with his approach. "You won't walk away from this having seen a whole new side to me. Whoever you think I am, whatever you _think _you know about me, you're wrong."

"If I'm wrong, I'm wrong." She gave a shrug, acting like none of this mattered when it did, though why she couldn't explain just yet; she just knew she had to be right about him. "You'd be surprised though at how good I am at judging someone's true character."

He remained tight-lipped at that comment, his dark eyebrows knitting together in an unpleasant way, as if he was trying to force some ugliness onto his face so she ran in the other direction. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him.

"You're wrong about me," he eventually said, following her down the street, the burst of sunlight making him wince – usually he was shrouded in a poorly lit room with a bunch of mindless idiots like himself, just trying to make a living. "I don't know why you don't see it."

She gave a careless laugh, and didn't respond, leaving him to pause for half a second, his eyes lazily trailing up and down her body, before he groaned aloud, noting to himself not to piss off any more of Matt's friends in the future, and started quickening his pace to catch up with her.

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In the small cafe Elena had chosen, Damon found himself fidgeting restlessly on the uncomfortably hard chair, watching as she'd disappeared to the bathroom to freshen up. The entire place was foreign to him, from the overhanging fans attached to the ceiling, to the old style decor – which was mostly displayed with paintings of old houses and portraits of presumably famous people, but he had yet to identify who they even were – and he found himself at a loose end waiting for her to come back.

He'd ordered them both lunch – she'd ordered some sort of fancy sounding sandwich, whereas he'd gone for pizza –and while he waited for her to come back, he tried to put together the pieces of the complicated puzzle that was Elena Gilbert.

First of all, she wasn't what he'd expected her to be. Their initial meeting should've been a clue to that, yet he still remained convinced the confidence thing was for show, but it seemed she still persisted on showing it, so maybe an element of it was real. She was outspoken, very proud of her shop – something to note in case an element of snide entered his voice if the topic was broached in conversation – and above all else, a complete surprise.

He pursed his lips, still trying to work out whether his overall picture of her was negative or positive. Nobody had dared stand up to him like that since Alaric, and even his own brother, for all his talk, knew when to back down in a confrontation. Elena didn't; she seemed to be convinced he was hiding another side of himself from public view, like he was a chameleon who could change his colours at will.

He snorted at her naiveté.

When she eventually returned, he took the time to study her, begrudgingly admitting to himself she wasn't exactly lacking in the beauty department. Take her hair for example; it fell in soft straight lines, some of which curled a little at the fringes, and was a rich auburn colour. Her eyes were the warmest shade of brown imaginable, and there was so much there he could read, while at the same time he became acutely aware there was a lot hidden there too. She was slender, but curved in all the right places; she wore only the faintest traces of make-up, making him feel like if this was just her in the day, what was she like when she was all dolled up for a night out?

He shook his head, cursing himself for being distracted.

"So," he began.

"So," she repeated, a warm smile gracing her lips.

Damon swallowed.

It had been a long time since he'd seen a smile like that; genuine, sincere – for the most part – yet still holding enough back that he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Her lips parted to show an array of white teeth, and they themselves were coated in a dull red, which if anything made them more aesthetically pleasing.

"You seem a little speechless," she noted, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I'm confused – I thought I was going on a lunch date with _Damon Salvatore_."

The subtle insult disguised in the way she'd said his name brought him to life again.

"Technically, this isn't a date, it's an apology," he corrected stiffly.

If they were playing this game, he could play it too.

"Do you always apologise with awkward lunches? If so, I think that might be why your social skills leave something to be desired."

He gave her a disparaging look.

"I thought sarcasm was my bit. You seem to be stealing my spotlight, honey."

"Can I ask you something?" she said, cutting to the chase, completely ignoring his last remark much to his surprise.

"Shoot."

"Your books," she gestured aimlessly, as if searching for the right words to pluck from the air, "they're inarguably your greatest accomplishment..."

"You're presuming a lot there, but I'll let you continue."

"...why be ashamed of them?" She rested her chin on her hands, curiosity sparkling in the pools of her eyes. "I loved them."

"I've never liked talking about them." He gave a shrug. "They're nothing to be proud of. I wrote them during the darkest period of my life. End of story."

"It's kind of redundant for an author to use those words, not to mention ironic, you do know that right?"

He actually laughed.

She had this way of being both absolutely serious and ironic at any given moment. Her eyes shone with merriment, and he had the feeling she was enjoying taking him down a peg or two, and honestly he was enjoying himself immensely, despite being absolutely sure this would be a miserable experience seeing how he'd never apologised for something (and meant it) in his life.

"You have a nice laugh," she commented, at the very moment their food orders arrived. "You should laugh more."

He rolled his eyes, and then he was back to being suitably detached from this entire experience.

"Is that what I should do?" he sniped. "_Laugh more_? Good thing Dr Gilbert is here to prescribe me a good dosage of laughter to sort out my life." He rolled his eyes again for good measure. "Puh-_lease_. Whoever said laughter is the best medicine should try being force fed comedy while having a..." He suddenly faltered, noticing Elena had gone very still, her olive complexion the faintest shade of white. She gripped her cutlery with an absoluteness he couldn't define, and then, within seconds, all that was gone. "...Erm, what was that about?"

"Stomach ache," she said easily, and he let it pass.

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but this lunch wasn't to get to know each other, or find out how the other ticked. It was a way of getting a blonde haired, blue eyed, stubborn bartender off his back and nothing more.

"So, _El-e-na_," he drawled, "questionable taste in books aside, what else is there to know about you?"

To hell with not getting to know her.

How else was he supposed to pass the time without prying a little?

She smiled through a mouthful of food, and he felt part of his mouth pull upwards into an almost smile, because she resembled a hamster stuffing food in its cheeks. It was impossible not to find that image alone cute.

_Stop, _his brain coldly commanded. _You're not supposed to be finding her cute. You're supposed to be cold and detached. That's how it's worked for two years, remember?_

She swallowed, and proceeded with answering his question.

"I'm twenty six. I've lived in the city for five years," she listed, "this is my natural hair colour, although I once went blonde, which wasn't a good look for me, and in case it isn't obvious, I love reading. I think that about sums me up."

"You don't say," he mused, finishing his food in a contemplative silence.

He noticed she didn't ask him the same question back, and he couldn't help wondering why that disappointed him slightly.

When they'd finished, he paid the bill, and sat back in his chair, wondering why he didn't just walk away. He had no more business here, but to his surprise, she wasn't going anywhere either. She had her hands on the table, showing off a recent manicure, and was drumming her fingertips along the table to a tuneless beat.

"This kind of reminds me of the part of _At Third Glance_ where Lana and Justin are having dinner, both of them trying to think of words to say to make the evening pass without further awkwardness after his faux pas with her brother," she mused suddenly, and he froze, wondering where she was going with this. "And then he comes to this big life changing realisation that maybe the reason he can't find the right words to say to her is because there are none, that maybe he built them up to be something they weren't and that because of that, there's nowhere for them to go except their separate ways."

Her eyes rolled onto his, and he wasn't sure what expression was even on his face. Awe? Surprise? Guilt?

Maybe even a combination of all three.

"You actually read my books," he said, shock dripping from every syllable.

She rolled her eyes.

"Have I not made that clear yet? It was the whole reason my face nearly got a door imprint on it yesterday."

He struggled for words – how ironic, given what the topic had become.

"You didn't just _read _them though. You _know _them." He leaned back, stunned into silence. "I just – I don't know what to say."

"This is the part where you finally believe me when I say I'm a big fan," she commented wryly.

He shook his head, running one hand through his tousled hair.

"This is the part when I wonder why the hell you're still here and not halfway out the door," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for ever doubting you."

Her own smile slid from view. She tilted her head to one side again, her eyes squinting, as if suddenly stumbling across something which hadn't crossed her vision before. When her smile re-emerged, it dawned with a radiant glow, her lips stretching into a beam before the effect slowly diminished into a warm look which flushed her face.

"And this is the part where I say it was lovely having lunch with you, Mr Salvatore, and I forgive you for your rude behaviour," she said, rising fluently to her feet. As she walked to the door, she turned around, adding in a voice as soft as silk, "For the record, I was rooting for David Sanders in your book. For all his issues, he was a character with heart, even if no one else could see it."

He watched as she walked away, still rooted to his seat, unable to quite believe the afternoon he'd had. She walked past the window, giving him a parting wave before disappearing completely.

That should've been the end of it, the end of their chapter, and the end of their relationship... if you could even call it that.

But, in a manner befitting life, it wasn't.

It was only the beginning of what would prove to be the darkest chapter of his life yet.

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A/n: Thank you for reviewing! I appreciate all the reviews I get. Nothing much really happened this chapter but it established the fact that there is a softer side to Damon. As we go on we'll learn more about each of their pasts, and there will be more Bonnie and Caroline so keep reviewing my lovelies and I shall try and update faster.


	6. Tangled Webs

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 6

Tangled Webs

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_"Do you ever think maybe we were never meant to be?" he spoke, nerves evident in the depths of his throat. "That maybe this here was a game we weren't meant to play. I mean, god knows we tried. We made each other miserable – we _make _each other miserable. I – I don't know how much more I can take. Your mind games – my heart ache – it's just a big mess, and I don't know how to untangle it. Where do I even begin? What string in this web of deceit do I even try to unravel? Tell me!"_

_ A humiliated flush – the colour of anger at its core – swirled in her cheeks. She raised a hand to strike him, but somehow she lost the motion in mid air. She swallowed, bruised from his words but not his hands – never his hands. Her heart ached, ached for a time when banter had remained banter, unable to turn into anything more by the seeds of passion. _

_"I don't know how to be your friend anymore," she admitted, her voice nothing more than a whisper along a dusty road. "We somehow got to the point where even hating each other was easier to do. We were enemies and then we became friends, and somewhere along that road we fell in love. And now this has happened, and I've screwed up, and I – I can't look at you without hurting. Without bleeding inside. I should've walked away. God knows, I should've just walked away. I guess I just got to thinking shooting for the heavens for one glorious bite of stardust was better than lying face down on the ground, waiting for the world to trample all over me."_

Elena gave a choking sound as she closed the book for the night, unable to believe the effect this was having on her.

She was re-reading_ Perception _for the third time, and it still hurt. Words as powerful as actual emotions bled from the pages, settling into her heart as firm as stitches. The main two protagonists – antagonists, really, if you thought about it – were opposites, both fierce in nature, easy to antagonise, and they butted heads on everything. But underneath the hate was genuine, passion, raw love. They just hadn't been able to handle it.

She reflected on her lunch with Damon, who, true to his word, had come out with a genuine apology, but despite his words she wasn't sure he'd made it for the reasons she'd thought. He seemed to put an alternate meaning behind everything he said, which was frustrating but not entirely surprising given there was another character hidden underneath his very skin, one he would not show at all.

Jenna had gone out for the evening with an old friend who just happened to be in the city, leaving her alone for the evening. Without even planning it, she rooted underneath one of the sofa cushions to find the photo album she'd hidden there, her hands tracing the cream white cover with a nostalgia that almost overpowered her.

She thought about the characters of Austin and Myra in Perception, how their relationship had gone through the worst of everything only to fall apart at the best – she'd loved the irony of that – and her hands trembled as she opened the album, her hands tracing the picture of her fiancée.

Elijah.

His name was Elijah, and the name still pressed upon her soul like a seal on an envelope. His sleek brown hair, the fringe of which always fell in the form of curtains across his eyes, had been so soft to the touch, and she could still feel the way it had bounced underneath her fingers. His hands, rough in texture but tender in the way they'd held her, had been the comfort zone she'd always rushed to after a stressful day. Though never overly keen on displays of affection, he'd always found a way to overcome that to press a simply kiss on her forehead before tucking her under his arm like she was a little bag, and murmuring words which had soothed her soul.

They'd never fought, which on paper sounded strange, even abnormal, but for them that had worked. He'd been calm enough to temper her rages; she'd been emotional enough to get his working, particularly after a mind numbing day when the life seemed to have been drained from him. They'd balanced each other out perfectly, and then suddenly that balance just hadn't existed anymore.

He was gone, leaving her carrying the weight of a broken relationship in his absence.

And she'd not mustered one tear over it. Maybe that spoke volumes about who they'd been as a couple, but several times she'd come close to a breakdown and stopped herself just in time, because in her world a breakdown would truly ruin everything she'd built since coming here. It wasn't entirely a healthy approach but it had worked to a point, because she could look back on all those memories without her heart wanting to commit suicide within the confines of her chest.

She thumbed through the photos, some of which were just ordinary snaps taken on days out. Some were taken at special occasions, weddings and such, and the one showing her smashing a piece of cake into his face raises a haunted chuckle from her lips. She honestly had believed he was going to raise hell when she'd pulled that stunt, because he'd made no attempt at hiding his love for expensive suits, but instead, he'd simply wiped the cake from his mouth and mashed it into her hair.

_"There," _he'd stated simply, a small smirk gracing his features, "_now it saves me from being the only one of us two decorated in cake." _After that, he'd given a mock twirl, letting the cake and icing crumble into his suit, much to her surprise. _"Not exactly to my taste, but it makes a change."_

To her surprise, that memory caused her to double over with an unexpected dose of pain that came out of nowhere. It hurt to laugh, hurt to even dwell on that memory, and before she knew it, the album had been stuffed hastily back under the cushions before she lost the plot entirely.

What the hell had happened there?

Oh, right.

She'd not looked at that album since the night after he'd left, and she'd been, ironically enough, in a better place then, probably because denial had kept her from believing the worst until eventually everyone had forced her to accept the truth – he was gone and he wasn't coming back.

So why did it hurt more now than it had done then? Where was all this emotion coming from? It seeped out of every pore along her skin, threatening to bleed her dry. All she could assume was that this lunch with Damon had perhaps had a stronger effect on her than she'd first realised. Seeing the first stitch which kept his softer side in check come undone had probably rooted itself into her mind, making her realise that even the oldest scars could still hurt, and that it was okay to admit that they did.

God, one lunch with Damon Salvatore and she'd turned into a borderline emotional wreck.

Drawing her knees to her chest, Elena thought about turning in early, but the thought of lying awake with her thoughts just didn't sound appealing, so she did something she hadn't done for two years.

She walked to her bedroom, threw on some loose clothing, and faced the world for a late night jog. The moment she did, she remembered the feeling of running, and a wild laugh escaped her lips. Her sprint turned into a full on run, until she was literally barrelling down the street at a manic pace. Her hands at one point just spread themselves out like wings, although she found this was obstructing her run just a bit, so she kept them tucked into her chest.

She lived too far away too jog to her bookshop, or indeed the city centre, so to make the run interesting, she tried cutting down some alleyways. They'd never scared her like Bonnie and Caroline, because even though there was the chance somebody could be hiding there with the ability to hurt her, or worse, she'd reasoned everybody had that same ability, so why should that stop her from exploring every avenue of her home city?

Cities at night were something spectacular to behold. The tallest buildings stuck out like square shaped disco balls, the lights from the windows of those still up stretching like arms across the sky. Even when places were closed, neon signs still flickered like dying flames, as if reminding people that life still teemed here, not that anybody needed reminding of that face.

At one point, Elena regained her sense of where she was, and found a path that took her away from the city, to a hill which overlooked her own little kingdom. Panting, she fell down on the grass, spreading her fingers against the soft blades, smiling to herself because this was where she'd missed coming. Somehow real life had kept her from this corner of paradise; she'd used to come here a lot, mostly in the day to read while overlooking the busy world she was a part of.

The view was spectacular, there was no denying it. It overlooked the city, which meant below her shone a jewel teeming with life and light. Up above her was a ribbon of stars and beauty, with a pale moon yawning at her in between. Other than the grass and shrubbery, pretty much no life existed here, which was why she loved this spot so much. In future she would have to make sure she didn't neglect her visits here. Why had she not been here in so long?

"Stars are just fixed points in the universe we pin our hopes and dreams on because we're not brave enough to make them come true ourselves," she quoted lazily, gazing up at the sky, wondering where that piece of profound wisdom had come from.

Oh, right.

_At Third Glance._

By Damon freakin' Salvatore.

That man's words would end up on her tombstone, she guaranteed it. He had this amazing ability at writing profound thoughts, yet lacked the energy to translate this skill into his real persona.

Pushing herself to her feet, Elena realised at some point she would have to head home again. A cold wind had begun to pick up, chilling her to the bone, and even running wouldn't be able to counter the ice chill which signalled the beginning of winter.

She gave a few practice jogs on the spot before pushing herself into a gentle run which lasted all the way back to her flat. Impressed that her physical status remained unchanged from the last time she'd partook in this type of exercise – meaning she hadn't given up after a mile, sweating buckets and cursing to a deity she didn't even believe in - she headed back inside, content that now at least she'd run herself ragged to the point where sleep would come absolutely natural to her.

But as she showered and changed for bed, tying her damp hair into a loose ponytail, she couldn't help thinking about Damon, and how within the last few minutes of their lunch date she'd seen his walls crumble, if only for a moment, and he'd seemed genuinely stunned she knew his books inside and out, even if only reading them a couple of times.

She'd still held back on telling him though she couldn't quite read the last chapter of _1864 _just yet. If this book mirrored real life, then she'd read up to a point where her heart literally hurt for both the brothers in the story. She couldn't read the ending – not yet anyway.

Did Damon mention having a brother? She couldn't recall even asking him anything about himself, let alone enquiring after potential family members.

_But he'd asked after you, _said the snide voice in her mind. _And you didn't ask after him in return. Very rude of you._

Elena justified that decision by telling herself he wouldn't have revealed much even if she had asked. He was a closed book in some respects; in others, he was completely open, if only about the fact that he revealed very little of himself to anyone. He was akin to a mystery novel, only he wasn't letting anybody past the first chapter, presumably to keep himself from getting hurt again.

How could she judge him for that when it was the same method she employed to protect her own heart?

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Bonnie worried about Elena.

Sometimes she found herself waiting for the inevitable phone call which would tell her every instinct of hers was right – that Elena had broken down in the ugliest of ways, and only her best friend could repair her. Bonnie feared that call more than any other in the entire world, because honestly how did you help someone get over a relationship which had had no closure whatsoever? What did you say? How did you help the healing begin?

In her small, uncomfortable, and frankly ugly apartment, overlooking the busiest road in the city, she found herself re-reading _Pride & Prejudice, _her own personal copy dog-eared and battered, so many times had she found herself turning to it in times of desperate need. It was the classic formula many clichéd love films nowadays loved to adapt, but despite the fact she owned many of those clichéd films – her own stack of guilty pleasures- she still preferred the very book everything else stemmed from.

Her own love life had been on and off the cards since high school. There had been the odd romance, but nothing to brag about. Instead, she'd kept herself occupied with the love lives of Caroline and Elena, keeping abreast of their personal developments so they wouldn't ask about hers. She was very private like that, even with her own friends. Ever since an incident back at school, when a deep love she'd felt bloom in the back of heart had been broadcast across the school – labelled as a silly crush – had ruined a friendship forever, she'd felt like she could never trust anyone again with matters of the heart. Caroline and Elena should've been the exceptions, but still she felt reserved, too scared to trust that her deepest secrets would be kept safe from the cruel eyes and ears of the world.

The moment she'd shared with Jeremy the other day in the shop had confused her. He was Elena's little brother; why was he stuck in her mind? She found herself noticing little things which hadn't caught her attention before, like the fact sometimes his fingers would reach the fringes of his hair, lightly tugging there before releasing them, as if he needed affirmation that he was real. Or there was also the little habit he had of drifting off in the middle of conversations, yet somehow able to pick up the conversation the moment he returned to the present moment.

He was cute; there was no denying that fact. With a baby face, a strong jaw line, and soft chocolate locks, he had the looks of the stereotypical boy next door. He was anything but however, with a set of talents which rose him above every other guy she'd come across. As well as being a brilliant artist, he played guitar from time to time; she'd come to one of his low key performances in a bar a few streets away, and had been blown away by the fact he seemed to possess a gruff voice which could melt anybody, and it had suited the way he'd played the guitar, which he'd done so with strong confident strumming motions.

But the fact of the matter was, he was still Elena's little brother. That didn't make what she felt wrong, but it made it feel strange, foreign, another problem to add to the list which was growing every day. Between worrying about her grandmother's health, and worrying about her friend's mental state – Caroline had always been able to buy the fact Elena was fine, but Bonnie wasn't so sure – the last thing she needed to stress about was a new crush.

So she pushed those feelings to one side, deciding to deal with them on a separate occasion. Ever since she could remember, she'd always done that; delayed her emotional responses until she was sure she could fall apart. It was like Elena's method of coping, except she did actually allow herself to fall apart. It was cathartic, like watching a waterfall burst across dry land, allowing new life to grow where the old had withered and died.

A good example of this was the moment she'd learned her mother wasn't coming back. She'd been young at the time, fully able to comprehend what was going on yet people had chosen not to tell her until she'd figured out the truth for herself. Cue the endless nights crying on her windowsill, weeping down the phone to Elena, curling up in a river of blankets and duvets searching for an inch of comfort to compare with the kind her mother could provide.

Eventually, though, she'd picked herself up again. Life went on – so should she.

Tonight was the night she was sorting out some of the boxes she'd had carted up from her old home, most of which were filled with junk. There were odd pictures she'd drawn as a child, several schoolbooks – they were going to be binned at _once _– and even some photos she'd long forgotten.

There was the one of her and Elena by the well in the woods of the town they'd grown up in. Elena was carefree then, much more prone to opening herself up to everything, and this photo encapsulated that. Bonnie almost felt a shudder of anger towards Elijah for what his disappearance had cost them all – the loss of that innocence which had carried Elena through to her life in the city. She couldn't help but smile though at the next picture, which depicted her, Caroline and Elena all standing by the exit sign of their town, beaming with pride at the thought of escaping the small town life for good.

She and Elena hadn't been introduced to Caroline until their senior year at high school. They'd been aware of her though, aware of her mean girl reputation, and they'd disliked her intensely while at the same time trying to stay out of her way so they didn't end up having a nasty rumour spread about them.

In the end, Caroline had surprised them. When the outing of her father's sexuality had reached the school, a wave of nastiness had swarmed the school, pushing Caroline to a new status altogether. People who'd been mean alongside her all of a sudden became mean towards her. Leaving and exiting school in floods of tears each day had pushed Bonnie and Elena to approach her one morning, tentatively offering her words of comfort which she'd clung to.

In school, the harshest lessons are taught by the students, while the friendships formed are often not because of common interests but by common experiences. Bonnie and Elena had both experienced the backlash that came with being a part of the fabrication of student life, and they'd hated it; all they could do was offer the hand of friendship to someone who clearly had no one else to turn to. It was partly out of pity, partly out of resentment for a part of life they couldn't change that they became friends with Caroline Forbes, but if they'd had any doubt as to whether or not there was any sincerity behind her part of their friendship, it was gone when months later, after leading the cheerleaders to a victory at Nationals, everybody suddenly wanted to be her friend again, and she'd told them all, in no uncertain terms, that they could kiss her –and Bonnie distinctively remembered the phrase, because it had made her laugh so hard she'd come close to peeing herself – "gloriously overworked little ass" goodbye, because she now knew who her real friends were.

Grinning at that memory, Bonnie was almost through sorting out the last but one box when her hands suddenly gripped an unfamiliar piece of paper. It seemed to have fallen from the pocket of a jacket she vaguely remembered wearing as a child, although why she'd kept it remained a mystery. Folded into a neat square, she opened the paper carefully, freezing at the familiar writing.

Her heart folded in on itself like origami. Her fingers squeezed the paper so hard, the bones under her skin cracked, every part of her suddenly tensed up, ready to spring away the moment it called for it.

Now, she'd ragged on Elena for a long time about dealing with Elijah's disappearance. Hell, she'd once tried riling up her best friend into having some sort of emotional outburst, but Elena had been too calm, too perceiving, and the ruse had failed. Bonnie had had this theory that the reason for this was because a part of Elena, deep down, believed he was coming back. She believed with a childish naiveté, and that was what kept her from shutting down. Sometimes Bonnie would contemplate forging a goodbye letter, and posting it, just to see if it got any reaction, but then again that would've been a step too far.

Now she was being paid back for even entertaining the notion, facing her very own floodgates, because although it had been many, many years, it still didn't mean the sight of her own mother's handwriting wouldn't register with her on a level that nobody could ever understand.

The only question was, should she read the letter or not? Should she open herself up to the possibility of closure once and for all, or would closure hurt even more than the not knowing?

And so, for the first time, Bonnie found herself completely understanding Elena's point of view.

Yes, the not knowing was excruciating; it could tear your life apart thinking about all the _what ifs _and _maybes_, but what if the knowing was so much worse? What if you were the problem, the reason things hadn't worked out? Could she really handle that?

Bonnie held the answers to so many questions in her palm of her hand, and she knew for a fact this letter wasn't a past artefact of her mother's, because she'd never seen it before, and it was dated on the day she'd left, but she was afraid that the truth would destroy her.

Silently, she slid the piece of paper back out of sight, deciding when she was ready to know, she'd find it again, but for now she just wasn't ready to delve back into the past.

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At work the next day, Elena kept herself as busy as she could to make up for the fact that last night had been the closes she'd come to an actual breakdown. She could only blame the invasion of Damon Salvatore's hauntingly beautiful words, which had infested in her mind, his all too real characters chasing after her very shadow, putting all other characters she'd ever known and liked to shame.

She stacked books at a quicker pace, as if terrified their deepest messages would fly from the page and attack her, forcing her to deal with everything she'd put off dealing with, and she still wasn't ready for that.

Luckily, Caroline was here, helping her, noticing with some concern that her friend looked slightly out of sorts. Just because she talked a lot, and often drowned out her friends with her insane gossip they would inevitably disregard, didn't mean she didn't notice when something was wrong in their worlds. Often she felt resentful that she'd not barged her way into their little dynamic sooner, hating the fact that before her they'd shared memories together she would never be a part of, and so she made up for that by making sure she was with them as much as she could.

That was Caroline Forbes for you though: insecure, sometimes neurotic, and painfully aware of her past. She wasn't perfect by any means, but she tried every day to make up for her flaws by being a good friend. Sometimes though there was only so much she could do, like watching Elena go through the motions without really _living_. There'd been a noticeable difference in the last couple of days though; she seemed to be either on edge, or more relaxed, with no in between ground to fall back on. Caroline couldn't work out the cause of it, but

With her parents' divorce, and her dad's imminent confession about his sexuality, Caroline hadn't exactly had the easiest life. Her peers at school had been mercilessly cruel about the fact that such a perfect girl with the stereotypical cheerleader look could have such a weird family, never mind the fact that they lived in a modern age where people's sexuality shouldn't have mattered. And yet when she'd heard Bonnie and Elena talk about it one day in the hallway, they'd spoken with such venom towards the people who'd shamed her about it, making it clear they hadn't cared about the gossip at all, and she'd warmed to them at once. They were her best friends, and she was almost thankful for the parade of cruelty which had haunted her for a few weeks, because it had shown her that people in high school were fickle, and social circles were just a joke. She wanted people to stand by her long after they'd left, and Bonnie and Elena had been the girls to fit that requirement perfectly.

Now, however, she sensed some notorious scandal or two had rocked both girls' worlds, and it frightened her that they might pull away, hence the reason she'd made sure to keep an eye on both.

Her phone rang shrilly, the tune of _Call Me Maybe _- a song Tyler loathed with his entire being – flooding the shop.

"Sorry. Gotta step out and take this," she apologised to Elena, who gave a murmur of assent, before ducking out into the street, frowning at the unfamiliar number which flashed up on her screen.

"Hello?" she said, her tone one of caution but bubbly enough that she could appear friendly if it was something to do with Pages To Go.

The colour from her face drained away when she recognised the voice that responded. A mixture of anger and shock blended itself across her features, and a stream of curses almost left her lips, but whoever was on the other line was compelling enough to keep her from releasing it.

"You have one minute to talk before I hang up," she threatened. "So whatever you have to say, make it worth my time."

And she listened.

Then her face flushed with confusion, before that transformed into fear.

"I'm not being put through this again," was her concluding thought, after the designated sixty seconds were up. "I _can't. _What you're asking... what I have to do...It's too much."

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

"I do, but...It's not fair. It's not right." Another pause stretched out. "I hated this the first time you put me through it, now you're asking me to go through it again? I have to _lie _to my best friend, Elijah! You think any of this is okay?" She pinched the ridge of her nose, inhaling deeply, unable to resist looking back at her friend, who was serving a customer, smiling that same old smile Caroline had learned to be able to see right through. "You told me to look out for her like I would do anything less than that, but if she gets hurt because you couldn't tell her the truth, I will kick your balls so far up inside you that you won't be able to even think about kids, let alone actually have them."

She thought about hanging up there and then, except one little question made her freeze before she could do so, a thousand words playing at the forefront of her mind, and she had to deliberate which ones to use to drive the message home best.

"How do you think she's doing? She's not heard a damn thing from you since the night you left. She's barely holding it together. What you did to her screwed her up. I wish I hadn't introduced the two of you because it's abundantly clear that if I'd realised I'd set her up with someone who could just disappear from her life, like it's so easy to do, I would've told you where you could stick your feelings for her, and it's not a place where the sun frequently inhabits, let me tell you that for sure!"

And she hung up the phone, making sure to press the end call button just as hard as she possibly could, her nerves in shatters, the lie she never thought she'd have to relive again resurrected.

And the worst part was there was _no one _who she could trust with this, not even Bonnie, and especially not Elena.

The lie was too far gone now.

_She w_as too far gone.

* * *

A/n: First cliffhanger of the story so far. I am evil *insert evil laugh here* Bonnie and Caroline I wanted to make sure had crucial plots of their own as well as the focus being on Elena and Damon. They have crucial roles on the show, so I wanted to keep that going in this fic. Now we'll see how this lie of Caroline's affects her behaviour, and pretty soon flashbacks will be incorporated so we can see how Elena and Elijah got together, view their history, and understand exactly how Caroline became entangled in this web of lies and what hold Elijah has over her. Nobody is as they seem in this story, whether it's because of something they're hiding, or because of the way they are, so that's what this is all about really. Big thanks to all who review and enjoy this story. Just getting started, so settle in for a fairly lengthy fic.


	7. These Lines We Cross

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 7

These Lines We Cross

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For the first time since she'd walked out, Damon found himself glancing at his collection of books. Some were first editions of books passed down through the family. Needless to say, they were handled with care, never lent out to anybody, and organised by title and author.

Newer books were scattered haphazardly, mostly because the day after she'd left, he'd had a fit, throwing everything around until his house had looked like a hurricane had hit it. Only afterwards, when he'd calmed down, had he tidied away everything, and even then it had been a half-hearted effort. He looked at the titles now, ranging from the obscure –_The Jewel of St. Petersburg_, _The Historian _and the like – to the popular – and yes that included editions of Harry Potter, but the ones with the covers which didn't look as though its main audience was for children – to the books which he'd bought on a whim – _Rebecca, Eragon, Lord of the Flies _etc. All he'd read at some point and hadn't had the heart to dispose of them, even after his thirst for reading had disappeared entirely. He wondered if he kept them on display as a means of comfort, a reminder of a time when he'd found what he was looking for between the pages of a book and not the bottom of a glass.

It was his day off today, which was unfortunate given the fact he had nothing to do. He could've found solace in a bar, but something prevented him from taking that route. Stefan had expressed his deepest wishes that he do something productive, not mope around the house, to which he'd given his brother the middle finger; not his most mature move, but he was fed up of being treated like he had more to offer the world when he didn't. If he wanted to mope, let him mope. Christ, was that really so hard? Why did everyone insist on pushing him into making him a better man? Besides, even if he did what they said, even if he became this enigmatic better man, who did he have in his life to admire the efforts he'd gone to? No one.

Love was painful, pointless and overrated. His brother should've known that better than anybody, yet he still insisted on marching the optimistic march of life, much to Damon's annoyance. Why invariably pursue this concept which time and time again had proven to destroy the souls of those it touched?

Looking back on his work now, maybe he should've been proud of his books, because he didn't remember writing a happy ending for any of them. They were realistic, but also gritty, and he suddenly remembered why they were still sore subjects to talk about; they reflected a time when he was consumed by the very notion of being loved, back when Katherine had consumed his very soul, and so he'd found it interesting to explore the darker aspects of human relationships. Of course, she'd never read his work, and maybe it was a good thing she hadn't. She'd had a dark enough persona without _his_ dark thoughts twisting that brain of hers even further.

He picked up a random book from the shelf – _Call of the Wild, _as it turned out – flicking through the pages, almost nostalgic for the pastime he was (secretly) missing. He reflected upon the conversation he and Elena had shared, remembering the way her eyes had lit up just at the word 'reading'. Passion like that had long since fled his shadow, but it was almost nice to be reminded of what it looked like in other people.

His brother suddenly rang, and he could tell it was his brother because Alaric never called him, except on the odd occasion he drank alone and it ended up being a drunk dial. Apart from that, his list of contacts was very small, and he preferred it that way.

"This better be important, brother," he muttered as he picked up the phone. "Wouldn't want to interrupt me being _productive _now would we?"

_"I actually have a job for you to do, Damon, and I wouldn't ask but I literally cannot spare anyone to do it."_

Damon suddenly perked up.

He hated working for his brother but he also hated doing absolutely nothing but staring at the ruins of what had once been a happy home, so he was obviously going to jump at the chance at getting out of the house, yet still he had to play this down, for the sake of his own dignity.

"I don't know, Stefan. This is my day off. You forbade me to do anything work related. Your words, not mine. Maybe I made plans to do something else."

There was a pause.

_"Did you?"_

Damon deflated. He wasn't going to come up with an elaborate lie just to get his brother off his back.

"No, but that isn't the point." He sighed. "What do ya need?"

_"We're looking at some potential property to extend our offices, but I need you to go check out one of the potential premises. It's not technically on the market just yet, but my sources tell me the woman who owns it is struggling with payments, and that it's just a matter of time before she sells it."_

"And you want me to what, sneak in and make her an offer?" Damon wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. "That sounds very...underhanded of you, Stefan. It's something Dad would've pulled."

_"Maybe I happen to be channelling his spirit right now." _Stefan sounded stressed, he noted, and that could've been due to a number of different things, none of which Damon particularly felt like asking about. _"Look all you have to do is take a look around. Right now, it's the only place that looks even remotely promising, so bonus points if you can talk to the owner, see if she'd be willing to sell. You know what our budget is, what we're willing to spend, so you could make her a very attractive offer. Hell, even take her out to dinner if you have to if you need to butter her up, but take it no further than that."_

Damon was still not quite sure about his. Part of the reason he hated business as a concept was the fact he knew the various dirty tactics businessmen would use to try and undermine the competition or, in this case, gain new property. He knew how well Stefan's little empire was doing, but the thought of extending across the city frankly made him uncomfortable. The Salvatore name was already big in this corner of the world; he did not need another reason to hate being associated with the company because they'd forced some down-on-her-luck woman to sell her own business.

Then again, he was bored and the idea of taking out some barely together woman – that was the image he'd had in his mind from the way Stefan had described her – was more appealing than sitting around, waiting for another bout of depression and anger to sink in.

"Fine," he said shortly, "what's the address, and who's the bird?"

When his brother told him the address, he squinted, vaguely recalling having been in that area before. When Stefan released the name of the woman who owned it, he didn't know whether to be shocked or confused.

"Elena Gilbert?" he repeated, deciding against telling Stefan they'd met before under less than friendly circumstances, although admittedly their last encounter had ended rather pleasantly.

_"Yes. Can you handle this, Damon? I know what you're like around women you don't know."_

"Oh?" He plunked himself down on the leather brown armchair in the living room, his eyebrows skyrocketing upwards. "How am I around women I don't know? I wasn't aware I had issues in that department."

_"You don't, that's the problem. I'm not saying I want you to womanise or whatnot, but the fact you've had no affairs or romances since – um – well, since she left, it's been hard to predict what you'll be like around women without any frame of reference."_

"Aw, Stefan, I'm touched. Your concern for my decorum around the ladies," here his eyebrows gave a wiggle his brother, thankfully, couldn't see, "is simply moving." He placed a hand over his heart, smirking. "Believe it or not, Stefan, man has evolved this ability to be able to not act like a caveman around the opposite sex."

_"Well, given the fact you've had the same routine as a caveman – and by that I mean you've had absolutely nothing going for you in your life whatsoever except this stubborn need to prove the authenticity of your bachelorhood – you can see why there's cause for concern."_

Damon's upper lip curled into a semi-smirk.

"Touché, brother. Fine, I'll be on my best behaviour. No Damon shenanigans, I swear."

_"I don't even know what 'Damon shenanigans' would look like, that's my concern." _There was an almighty sigh from the mouth of Saint Stefan. _"But thanks, Damon. I'd rather not pull you away from your day off, but I have to get this sorted by the end of the day."_

"Sounds like you've made up your mind already about acquiring this property," Damon commented dryly.

He briefly wondered what this meant for Elena's little shop, what it meant for her. The last time they'd spoken he'd hardly have guessed she was on the verge of losing her shop, and truth be told he'd found it a charming little place, though it wasn't surprising it was going under. He was no businessman but just glancing around the place told him that he was surprised it was still going in this economy. Most people got their books online now, or at big corporate stores, so little bookshops were always going to struggle against those competitors.

Still, for someone of her calibre he imagined she'd be relieved to have the pressure of running that type of business off of her hands. Running a shop was hardly a career anyway, not in his books. Then again who was he to judge about what made a suitable career when his current one made his very soul shrivel with disgust?

Either way this next visit into Elena Gilbert's world would prove to be a very interesting one indeed.

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"When did you book Lexie Branson for?" Elena called, noticing Caroline seemed somewhat distracted in the stock room, her hands working, but her body slow at responding.

"This Monday," Caroline finally replied, after a long pause. "I was surprised I could get her on such short notice to be honest."

"Why is it short notice? Plenty of months in the year to organise it," Elena chuckled. "You did an amazing job nonetheless."

As Caroline surfaced, Elena wondered if she was imagining the flush of guilt which painted her friends' cheeks. She studied her for a moment, and then sank into another train of thought, quickly scurrying behind the counter when the door swung open to reveal a gaggle of school children, who, in all honesty, were her favourite customers. They weren't too young to have come in unescorted by parents, but neither were they at that teenage level where they mostly came in to chatter and gossip about anything but what they were supposedly interested in purchasing.

Over the group of bobbing heads which were quickly scattering to find their favourite books, Elena spotted her regular customer, little Rosemarie, who beamed and walked over to her.

"Heya, Rose," she greeted jovially.

"I brought my friends," Rosemarie gestured proudly, "just like I said I would."

"I was starting to think they were nonexistent," Elena replied with a wink.

Rosemarie had been in a few times now – in fact, she'd once proclaimed it was her favourite shop in the city, and although Elena had raised a few doubts about that, she appreciated the sentiment all the same – and was one of Elena's loyal customers. She was a bright child, with dark brown hair style in a pixie cut, and deep eyes that sort of made you believe any and every word that came out of her mouth. She was also wise beyond her years, often speaking like she came from a different time altogether, but Elena put that down to the fact she was an avid reader. Without even knowing it, avid readers tend to speak like the characters they love, if only to imitate art that little bit.

Elena had never asked about her back story, and Rosemarie had never given her any inclination about what it was that kept her coming here on her way home, even if, sometimes, it was just to browse, but she'd always made sure to give the girl a smile and an interesting story – not just from the books but from her own life, which the younger girl seemed inexplicably fascinated by – and they'd struck up a sort of friendship because of it.

"Any new books?"

Elena smiled.

It was the same question she was asked every time Rosemarie entered her shop.

"What's your flavour this month?"

Once a month, Rosemarie would change her favourite genre of book. Sometimes she fancied reading about vampires, other times she'd be searching for tearjerkers. It depended on her mood. Elena loved that about her; it saved her having to dig up the same sort of books every single time.

"Romance." Rosemarie never paid much attention to the theme of the week displays, much to Elena's amusement. "The _epic_ kind."

"Epic romances huh?" Elena pretended to scratch her chin. "Pretty sure that was our theme for the week a couple of weeks back."

"I wasn't here then, so..."

Rosemarie had a little attitude you couldn't help but admire. She wasn't harsh, but blunt with her words, and she had a _don't-care-what-you-think_-about-me personality which seemed to be the reason she'd attracted this particular bunch of youths, who all seemed to wear colourful streaks in their hair, some wearing expressions of detached interest while thumbing through copies of the latest literature phenomenon. Caroline, who'd fully emerged from the stock room, navigated her way amongst some of them, chatting with a couple of the students, while simultaneously pointing out some of the more popular reads.

Elena laughed.

"Alright then. Follow me."

She led Rosemarie to the back of the shop, where the romance literature was. Of course amongst them were some of the adult reads, so she steered her away from those, and found a copy of a book which she knew would suit her tastes.

"Here," she said, handing it to her.

"The Time Traveller's Wife?" Rosemarie said, sounding confused. "Doesn't sound very epic."

"Well, it's a strange book, I'll grant you. But it's a love story at the heart of it. Oh, and as I recall there are a few rude moments in it, so, best keep this one to yourself." Elena winked again. "I can trust you though, can't I?"

"Nope." Rosemarie grinned, to show she was joking. "How come you read so much anyway? Aren't you supposed to sell books, not read 'em?"

"I have a life outside of this you know," Elena chided playfully. "And I could ask you the same thing. Why do you love reading so much?"

"Because it's a distraction."

"From what?"

But Elena could see she'd lost Rosemarie, who wandered back over to her friends, and she had to wonder whether she'd gone too far with her questioning. From a distance, it seemed she was okay, but Rosemarie was hard to read, and there was a wall up in front of her that even Elena's gentle mannerisms couldn't break through. Not that it was her business to anyway, but it was still something which intrigued her.

Caroline was doing well with the other students anyway, sharing a joke which had them all laughing. Some of them had books in their hands they were about to purchase – The Hunger Games, mostly, due to the popularity of the films, but hey she wasn't about to deny them a chance at reading because of her outdated views regarding books which Hollywood turned into blockbusters – so she made her way to the counter, preparing to have a rare busy moment there.

The door then swung open again, and she automatically lifted her head, her jaw dropping as a familiar dark haired, blue eyed figure strode confidently in. She gave Caroline a sidelong glance, and it was clear her blonde friend had already spotted the new arrival and was proceeding to have a mental breakdown at how stunning he was. She was about one step away from drooling, which somewhat amused Elena given the fact Caroline was hardly a single woman and yet she was looking like she was about to pounce on the poor man.

"I'm here to buy a book," he drawled, walking over, leaning his entire frame on the counter.

"Which one? We have many," she replied wryly.

"What would you recommend?" His eyes were twinkling; where the hell was the Damon who slammed the door in her face? "I'm quite...finicky with my literature, I must warn you."

"This isn't really a shop for those who quit books cold turkey," she said, mock pouting at him. "Sorry."

"Maybe I'm relapsing," he quipped.

She lost her smile.

"May I help you, Damon? I'm quite busy as you can see."

Her eyes met Caroline's, and the latter was clearly bursting to the seam with questions, but with one look of her own, she managed to stem that particular tide, for now at least, but the moment Damon left, she knew she would be facing an interrogation to rival the Spanish Inquisition.

"I'm here to ask you out to dinner."

Even Caroline couldn't disguise the startled squawk that escaped her lips, which caused the students around her to giggle. Rosemarie, Elena could see, looked vaguely curious at this new turn of events, but she clutched her book to her thin chest, turning away to look at some others in order to give her the privacy she needed. She felt oddly grateful for that.

"Excuse me?" Elena said slowly, intensely confused.

"Did I get my words mixed up or something?" He almost looked bad tempered, and then in a flash it was gone, like lightning. "I said I'm here to ask you out to dinner."

"Then ask me, and not demand it like a petty child."

He seemed visibly stunned, as if expecting her to swoon at the request. No chance. He might've possessed the appearance of a young god, but that didn't mean basic manners could escape him. She folded her arms, making sure he knew that he wasn't dealing with some fragile flower that could be walked all over.

"Fine," he exhaled, "Elena, would you like to come to dinner with me?"

She pursed her lips, considering the request.

"Why?"

"Why?" He was bewildered by her question. "Because I enjoyed our lunch together, and I knew that couldn't be the last time I saw you."

"Hardly material worthy of _Gone With the Wind, _but I suppose I have to admire the fact you had the guts to ask," she said, smirking. "If we ignore the fact you had to be prompted to ask, that is."

Rosemarie chose this moment to make an appearance, her eyes taking in Damon's slowly, paying close attention to every detail. She pushed her choice of book onto the counter, placing a single note on top, before turning her attention to Elena, who understood what she was trying to do here.

She was offering her some time to consider Damon's request, and given the impatient nature of the man, she had to marvel at Rosemarie's quick thinking.

As she accepted her money, and placed her purchase in a bag, she noticed Damon's cobalt eyes remained fixed on hers, his temper close to flaring into view. She mildly wondered whether this was easily triggered, or if he was just in a particularly dark mood today which meant any little thing would piss him off.

"See you around," Rosemarie said, biting her bottom lip – and was that _concern _on her face? – before disappearing out the door.

"Weird child," Damon commented.

Elena's eyes snapped up to his.

"I'd rather you didn't talk about my customers like that, Mr Salvatore." She was back to addressing him formally, seeing how saying his name like they were friends seemed to not work for her. "It's just rude."

God, she wanted to believe more could escape his lips than crass comments. Okay, she was naive to expect poetry to fall from his lips, but she didn't want to have to wait until the end of a meal just to hear something real from him. Most people, authors in particular, had another identity they liked to hide behind when reality became too much, but he seemed to believe he _was _this alter ego, and that the man who'd written those books was a character he'd killed off a long time ago. She didn't buy that for one second.

"I apologise," he said, inclining his head.

"Yeah, you seem to have apologised a lot in the short time we've known each other," she remarked, glancing at her watch, noticing there were still a couple of more hours left until closing time. "I wonder if any of it is real."

"I can close up if you want to get out of here," Caroline piped up, causing Elena's lips to turn downward in displeasure.

_Now she wants to be helpful?_

"Well your schedule's clear," Damon informed her, his voice tight, his eyes giving nothing away about how that last remark had affected him. "And you're right in assuming I have other intentions, regarding asking you out, but I'd rather discuss that later."

She tried to work out what he wasn't saying, but he was a closed book – pun unintended. Sometimes little flickers of real emotions sparked into life, but he was quick to put them out the moment he saw they'd been registered. Something had hurt him so bad that he'd seen no other choice but to completely shut down, and it intrigued her, but she knew he wasn't going to open up to a stranger, and that saddened her a little.

"If we go to dinner, I want one thing to be clear," she informed him, straightening her back so she was at even height level with him.

He smirked.

"Do you always negotiate your way into getting a meal, Miss Gilbert?"

"Not since you arrived," she shot back.

"Gee, the sexual tension in here is just..." Caroline muttered, before remembering there were still about half a dozen students giggling around her, most of them between the ages of twelve and fifteen, which meant they were at an age to understand perfectly what she'd just said.

Caroline turned a bright scarlet and disappeared promptly, muttering something about disappearing to Mexico for a year or two, prompting a smile from Elena, despite the tense situation she was in.

"So, this thing you need to be clear..." Damon said, with an exaggerated cough, pulling her back to the present.

"Right." She cleared her head. "I need you to understand this isn't a date. You don't get to romance me, not that I think you have any inoffensive sentences within you to do so, and I want to preferably leave your company without thinking you have some sort of split personality disorder." Her eyes locked with his. "I want you to be honest with me from the moment we arrive, to the moment we leave."

"I can agree to those terms." He smiled. "Maybe one day I might get to take you out on a date we didn't have to negotiate the conditions of."

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile, refusing to comment further.

"Are you sure you're okay to lock up, Care?" she called, walking around the counter.

"It's fine," Caroline replied, walking out, the interest in her eyes bubbling to such a degree that Elena couldn't help wondering whether the moment enough time had passed she'd be getting a phone call from her, demanding all the details. "Where are the keys?"

"Spare set in the back," Elena told her, before turning towards Damon. "Mind if we head back to mine first? Call me old-fashioned, but I'd rather not go to dinner in the clothes I've worked in all day."

"Sure," he replied, in a tone that sounded like magnanimity, and that irked her because just because he was giving her time to change did not make him in control of this whole evening. "My car's just outside, I can drop you off."

"I've got my own car," she countered. "If you name the place, I can meet you there."

"Must you make _everything _difficult?" he sighed, genuinely appearing frustrated.

Elena again had to fight the urge to smile.

Seeing the frustrating on his face as a result of having to actively work to get the results he wanted by keeping his snarky social commentary to a minimum gave her a little bit of pleasure, she had to admit. She was still not over the flush of humiliation which had coloured her cheeks after he'd slammed the door in her face, the trivial trigger behind it being the mere mention of his books, products he should've been proud of not angered by. Any chance at making his life that little bit harder out of a petty sort of revenge was fine by her.

Then again, it could've been argued she was merely going along with this charade because she liked the change in routine. Sure, since Jenna had been around, they'd spiced up her otherwise dull as dishwater life by having long talks and giggling over ridiculously cheesy movies, but her social life hadn't progressed much. Her last night out – and she defined that term as being out and about after the hour of seven p.m. not necessarily meaning a night on the town, as it were – had been seven months ago when Bonnie and Caroline had persuaded her to come out with them to celebrate her birthday. Needless to say, the night hadn't been much fun, mostly because alcohol in vast quantities tended to bring out this super fun alter ego who just had no idea when to call it a night, and that usually led to some sort of trouble.

Damon walked her to her car as she pondered the ramifications of going on this non-romantic "date" with Damon, who had claimed he had something to discuss with her anyway. Her curiosity levels were piqued, that much she would say, and he was also wearing a stupidly charming smile she couldn't eradicate the effect of from her skin. He was an enigma; a human with too many personalities for her to keep up with, yet she was going to use tonight to probe a little further, see what else she could get him to spill. She was very aware of the fact she wasn't the only one using distance as a barrier, and she was curious to understand if not the circumstances regarding why he employed that method, then at the very least who else he had in his life.

Damon Salvatore had intrigued her from the first few words he'd conjured up on the pages of his books. Now she was determined to find out a little bit about his author, perhaps get a few titbits from an audio auto-biography, who knew? You didn't get far in life without asking, and though she was not looking beyond this evening for anything more, she hoped she could at least find out how he could mentally lock away a gift like his, and pretend it had never existed.

"I know a place." He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper. "This is the address. I'll give you an hour, and if you don't show up..." He left that sentence hanging. "I hope to see you there, Miss Gilbert."

"Please." She gave a snort, but it was made with just the merest hint of affection. "You can call me Elena. I think given how rude you've been up until this point, it's practically mandatory for you to do so."

He looked at a loss for words, and she tilted her head to one side, trying to work out what could be running through his mind at this particular moment. Was he struggling for a comeback? A response which didn't have her firing out sarcastic response after sarcastic response? Something to show he was more than the asshole who'd rudely turned her away when all she'd wanted to do was compliment his work?

"Let this be a fresh start," she proposed, suddenly inspired to give him a second chance. Maybe it was the faintest signs of emotional scars he clearly had given up trying to hide which had touched her; she loathed to dig any deeper into her own way of thinking. "We'll go to dinner, and it'll be like we're strangers. We can start afresh."

"Why would you bestow that honour upon me, Elena?" he responded, his voice suddenly rough, as though he was holding back an unexpected surge of emotion. "I was a dick."

"Maybe, but I was a bitch to you, even after you'd apologised," she responded, shrugging her shoulders. "Look, my friend Caroline is clearly going to want to ask me questions later about how I know you, and whether or not I've jumped your bones." She was relieved to see that boyish smirk cross his face again; it made his face look so much younger. "I can make up a lie, but it would be easier if what I told her was the truth. So we're going to go out, you can tell me what you need to tell me, and we can depart as friends. We don't have to live out every clichéd storyline and make this out to be anything more than it is. Deal?"

She reached out her hand, only to find he'd been more than eager to participate in this bargain long before the last word had slipped past her lips. They shook hands, his lingering a little longer than was necessary, which caused an unexpected feeling to surge its way through her bloodstream. She shook it off, nodding curtly in his direction, before turning to open her door, only to find he'd swiftly beaten her to the punch, leaning on it slightly, an unfathomable look upon his face, his eyes watching her even as she slid in, smiling gratefully before he shut the door.

She took a moment to release the breath she'd been holding, started the engine, and proceeded to join the busy traffic, suddenly aware Caroline had been watching the entire scene with eyes bursting to the seam with unanswered questions.

The problem with that, of course, was that half those answers were ones she needed to know herself, like why a simply gesture had stripped her of the ability to breathe, or how he'd managed to take all her expectations of him and flip them so that she was the one behaving the way she'd scolded him for.

How did one man manage to irritate her and make her smile in a short space of time? How was that even possible? In books, anything was possible. String a few romantic sentences together after a series of embittered words had been exchanged and it worked. In real life, however, it was never that simple. Some things you just couldn't magically alter with words, whether that was a bitter relationship, or someone's twisted personality.

Elena shook her head, cursing as another driver skidded clumsily into her path, deciding whatever she did tonight, she would have to stress to herself the entire time it wasn't a date.

What was that quote about lying again?

"_The secret to getting away with lying is believing with all your heart. __That goes for lying to yourself __even more so than lying to another."_

Why did she have a feeling she was utterly screwed tonight, no matter what frame of mind she went in with tonight?


	8. Altered Perceptions

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 8

Altered Perceptions

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He was going to be brutally honest with himself and admit he wasn't expecting her to show up. The restaurant he picked wasn't too far from the centre of the city, but it was a place easily accessible by car so she couldn't use the excuse of getting lost as a reason for not showing up.

Why did it matter? This was strictly business anyway.

But his palms were sweaty, and his brow was flushed. Why was he displaying all the symptoms of a teenage boy trying to summon up the courage to ask a girl out? It was pathetic. It had been a while since he'd last asked a girl out, without it being an apology for his behaviour of course, and yet all that Salvatore charm he'd heard so much about seemed to have fled his very skin. His father had possessed too much of it; Stefan, to a degree, had inherited some of it, the problem being he never used it for the right reasons, only to sway potential business clients into agreeing to sign a deal of some sort. Where was his in his greatest hour of need?

He'd ordered a drink – Bourbon, naturally – to calm his nerves, but it seemed like nothing was going to do the trick. This girl – this _woman_, correction – had him all pegged without even knowing the reasons why. Yes, she could be snippy, sarcastic, but he liked that. He liked the fact she wasn't timid or shy, that her opinions were straightforward, and not to be mocked or laughed at. The last time he'd known a girl like that she'd just finished breaking his heart and was navigating her way out of his life for good.

He was situated by the window, hoping against hope he could catch a glimpse of her first, just so he could muster up a response that didn't reflect how he was feeling right about now. His chest felt constricted, mainly because he was painfully aware of the fact his lack of interest in women meant he no longer knew how to communicate with them without dragging up his history, and he was not here for that at all. This wasn't a date by any means, yet it felt so much like one that it was hard to concentrate on the actual task at hand. He was still not sure how he was going to persuade her to sell, because even just walking in for that one moment – and he'd completely ignored Stefan's instructions on looking around the place, because he was going to handle this from now on – it had been perfectly clear she loved her business. He'd read it in the twinkle in her eyes, in the way she'd dealt with her customers, and in her body language in general.

He slumped in his chair, musing on the eternal dilemma that was Elena Gilbert, and so lost in thought was he that he didn't notice that he had company until a small and polite cough drew his attention.

Damon's eyes flew upwards, landing on her, and for a brief moment, he forgot how to speak. The ability to talk just seemed to be a skill he'd never learned, because when he saw her, nothing else seemed to matter, and he completely forgot that this was supposed to be a business meeting and nothing more.

She'd managed to walk that fine line between goddess and just simply breathtaking. Her hair fell into soft waves, framing her face and accentuating her features, particularly those warm eyes. Each strand of hair bounced with life, scaling down her back like a waterfall. She wore a black dress, with a plunging neckline, the top half decorated with ripples of soft material. A silver necklace decorated her exposed skin, and small hoop earrings flashed their presence, but other than that she hadn't gone overboard in the jewellery department.

Damon swallowed, and looked down at his own clothes, which consisted of a loose black shirt, a couple of buttons sneakily undone because that was just the way he'd always worn them, and dark trousers. Maybe he should've dressed so his business venture didn't seem like it was coming from an idiot, but it was too late to back out now.

He stood up, grabbing the chair opposite him and pulling it out so she could sit down.

"I like this Damon," she mused, smiling. "He's a gentleman."

"Ah, ah, ah, thought we were strangers, remember?" he reminded her. "This is the only Damon you know so far."

"You're right. I'm sorry." She straightened her face, even though he could see she was bursting to laugh. "Should we start over?"

"I believe so." He extended his hand. "Miss Gilbert, I'm Damon Salvatore, I believe we have some business to discuss."

"You never said it was business, but go on," she murmured, her voice low and husky, and he bit back a groan.

He'd found women attractive before – his sexuality had never changed in that respect – but the desire to be with one just hadn't stirred him like this in a long time. Every muscle, every nerve on his body felt tense, almost as if they were aware of this rare occurrence, and he tried to keep himself in check...with very little effect.

"I have a proposal to make," he said, leaning back, keeping his eyes locked with hers before they wandered up and down her beautiful body. "And I want you to keep an open mind about it."

Elena nodded, running her tongue along her bottom lip, presumably to moisten it due, but the effect it had – that _one _gesture – drove him wild. His dirty thoughts multiplied in his head until he was dizzy. Her very perfume fluttered around him, like a million butterflies spreading their wings in front of his very face, parading themselves in a manner he couldn't ignore.

"I came in with an open mind, _Damon_, so go ahead and shoot. What is it you wanted to discuss?" she asked, resting her chin on her hands, her lips coated in a thin lipstick only a shade lighter than the colour of blood.

"Should we order drinks first?"

Damon beckoned a waiter over anyway, and they ordered drinks, him having already necked the rest of his Bourbon the moment he'd taken in her appearance, which was such a far stretch from the bookworm look she'd cultivated he was still in shock about it. When the drinks arrived, they knocked their glasses lightly together before divulging in a sip, their eyes never once straying to any other part of the room.

"So, this business venture," he eventually started, suddenly nervous, wondering if he was going to get a drink in his face for even daring to suggest she part with her shop.

Then again, he'd only met her twice before, so who was he to judge what her feelings were about it? For all he knew, she was good at pretending she led the cosiest of lives, when really her mind and heart searched for more, and that him buying the property on behalf of his brother was a godsend she'd been waiting for.

Some hope.

But he held it all the same, already remembering how furious she could get when provoked.

"I want to buy your shop," but somehow the blunt words fell from his lips anyway, without even a shadow of forethought hovering around them. "Or, rather, my brother does."

She blinked, immediately taken aback.

"It's – er – not for sale," she said, too surprised to sound cross even though he could see faint lines appear along her forehead.

Was she not aware of her shop's current financial situation, or had she genuinely decided to be stubborn with him on every encounter? Judging by her genuinely startled reaction, he knew he was the first person to have approached her about buying her property, which was strange considering Stefan seemed to have been under the impression she was getting desperate.

"Is that what this is about?" She tilted her head to one side, her lips turned into a frown. "Are you trying to buy me out or something?"

"Not exactly. My brother's company, which I work for, is looking for a place to set up extra offices. He wants to extend the premises. Don't ask me why. He seems to be under the impression your shop is struggling, and he's offering to buy you out for a good price."

Elena pursed her lips, a variety of emotions spinning in her eyes. He leaned forward, reached to touch her hand, and then pulled back, scolding himself for being too familiar with a woman who he didn't know, who'd already demonstrated she wasn't keen on him despite her agreement to meet here and talk. He saw a flash on her hand, and immediately cursed himself, wondering why he hadn't noticed the band of gold before.

Why did it matter that she was engaged? That was perhaps the more pressing question he should've asked himself, but he was momentarily distracted, figuring someone as beautiful as her would be taken. Wasn't that the way of the world? All the beautiful women were snatched up like diamonds, and maybe if he'd tried harder with women he could've found one of his own, but no one had interested him at all to even make the effort.

Until now anyway.

"It's true the shop has been struggling lately," Elena managed to get out, clearly struggling with her own words, for some unknown reason. "But if my finances were in that much trouble, I think my best friends would've let me know. My friend Caroline, who you saw earlier, is in charge of finances."

"Who, _Blondie_?"

She stiffened.

"Are you about to say something _presumptuous, _Damon? Just because she's _blonde_?" She shook her head, visibly angered. "You're unbelievable."

He shook his head vehemently, determined to clear his name before she'd finished deciding he was guilty of being rude to her friends on top of everything else he'd ever done to her.

"I would never presume anything. I'm just surprised given your passion for the shop you don't run it all yourself. You have the knowhow, surely?"

She gazed at him, some sort of question lingering there he couldn't make out.

"I handle the customers, and sort out the rest of the paperwork which isn't related to the finances, and I open and lock up every night, and I try and find new and creative ways to keep my business afloat, and I did try and do it all on my own, at first, until I realised running a business is more than just turning your ideas and dreams into reality. There's tax to consider, where you're going to get your stock from, who your suppliers are; there's promoting your business, and marketing, and all this stuff I should've learned about but I never did." She pinched the ridge of her nose. "I inherited the property from my parents, and stupidly assumed I could run it all without a hitch. But it's been harder than I thought. Caroline has business experience, believe it or not, and Bonnie took a course to do with marketing and media a couple of years ago, so they were perfect candidates to help me run Pages To Go."

He nodded, letting her vent, silently appreciating the fact her years of hard work seemed to have integrated themselves into her voice, because even though he could still hear the passion, he could also hear the resignation and the weariness. When she drank, she drank the same way he did; as in letting the alcohol shoot straight down her throat, no savouring involved. It was sexy, an observation he could not be making right now.

"Look, I can tell my brother where to stick his offer if you like," he said, after a long pause. "He'll fire my ass, but hey, I can bounce back."

"Really?" She raised her head, doubt plastered across her face. "Because it looks to me like the last thing you tried to bounce back from didn't work out so well for you. You don't read anymore, you don't write, so save the speech about working to save a good cause, Damon. I'm sure it's been a while since you've last had one to fight for."

He sat back, visibly stunned, hurt rippling across his features before they hardened into a mask no one could see past. She was right, more right than she would ever know, but he wasn't going to admit that.

"I'm sorry," Elena immediately apologised, looking stricken. "I came here determined not to be _that _person, but I ..."

"Guess it's harder than you thought to try and start a new slate right?" he challenged, for some reason making sure he emphasised that point to her. "You still can't get past how I treated you, can you?"

She deflated, and suddenly he was just not in the mood for dinner. But he couldn't walk away either. They sat opposite each other, one in the throes of an existential crisis, the other trying to find his feet after his.

"I don't mean to hold grudges," she said after a while, playing with the ice in the bottom of her drink. "You know the old saying: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..." She let the sentence hang in the air between them. "Point is I've been wrong about someone's character before and it cost me... well, a _lot _... so when I wrongly presumed you were exactly like the way I imagined you after reading your books, imagine my surprise when reality came and bit me in the ass."

He absorbed this, still left cold by her scathing remark. She had a point, he'd concede, and he knew all about being fooled and left broken, but it still surprised him that she was conceding blame for having acted on some foolish notion that he was like every author she'd probably met – down to earth, with some idiotic romantic notions about the way the world worked – and then reacting with such distaste when he'd turned out to be just like everyone else – bitter from life's disappointments, ashamed of his greatest pride, and just overall _human_.

Maybe a reality call was what she needed. Her book shop was floundering; books were just books, with happy endings remaining as elusive as ever in the real world, no matter what they described. He had no clue what the situation was with her love life, but perhaps a happily married woman to be wouldn't be sitting here with him, all dolled up and looking like a little piece of heaven sculpted into a woman.

"People get hurt all the time, Elena. It's called _life,_" he said detachedly. "We're born, we live a little while, we get screwed over, and then we die. Fact."

She raised her eyes so they were level with his.

"There is another stage of life, Damon. It's called _moving on." _

"And I'm sure you're the poster girl for that stage." His sarcasm was not lost on her. "Listen, what are we doing here now we've established you're essentially flogging a dead horse and that you have absolutely no interest in what I have to say, regarding business or otherwise?"

Her nostrils flared at that, but he could see she was keeping a tight grip on her temper. It was interesting to observe, because she almost looked like she had never had this kind of temper problem before. Anger stemmed from passion, this he knew from Katherine, yet despite the similarities between her and Elena in terms of how quick they were with their comebacks, Elena's passion stemmed from something as simple as reading, whereas Katherine's... well, there was probably a long list of people it could've stemmed from.

She certainly hadn't been a timid girl when he'd met her that was for sure.

"So what is it you and your brother do exactly?" Elena asked, cutting that particular conversation short. "I'm assuming working for your brother isn't exactly your dream job."

He wasn't sure what to make of this unexpected turn in the conversation, and he was still musing on bitter moments past, so he decided to keep his answers short and brief, just like they'd be in an interview.

"He owns the company, I deal with clientele."

He didn't know how to explain what the company did, and thankfully she seemed to accept his vague answer without probing any further.

"So he's the boss man, and you deal with his minions." She smiled at the image. "Why am I getting clichéd spy movie imagery in my head?"

He relaxed a little, amused by the way she seemed to view the business world despite running one herself.

"Horrifically paraphrased, but nicely deduced all the same," he complimented. "But, yes, Stefan heads up the company, and I'm part of a larger team appointed responsible for making sure business partners and investors don't go running off in the other direction if and when he makes a decision they don't like. There's nothing _Bourne_ about this at all."

"I watched those movies with Jeremy. Never got the appeal of 'em."

"What? Are you mad? They're called _action movies_ for a reason, Elena. Let me guess – you're prone to watching the classics. You know, _Pride & Prejudice, Little Women _etc. The sob stories. The ones that make _me_ want to reach for a bucket and hurl."

"Awfully presumptuous of you," she retorted, but she hid a smile, and the tension between them eased at once. "I'm guilty of liking the latter, I will admit though. I'm not overly keen on blockbusters, or action movies for that matter. I love indie films, with stories that have a heart to them, you know? Ones that don't heavily rely on special effects to make a dramatic point. Maybe that makes me a snob, I don't know, but though I enjoy the occasional book-turned-movie, or vice versa, I just think if a story is going to be filmed, it should be one from someone's head, not from someone else's words.

He contemplated that.

She was a stubborn, somewhat judgemental, easily offended woman, but she had a wise head on her shoulders. Sometimes she spoke like she wished she could change the world, and he understood the feeling. There was a lot he didn't like in his own world, never mind everyone else's. He supposed the passion he saw in Elena was like seeing the sun after an age of darkness for himself, in that he'd almost forgotten what it was like, what it felt like to have it presented before him, and not in a way which had his eyes darkening with desire either, which was refreshing. Sometimes women would just stroll up to him in a bar, their cleavages exposed, their faces painted with make-up, and the obviousness of what they were about to do nine times out of ten had him reaching over the counter for a bottle just to drown out the rest of the night.

Matt wouldn't charge him either – well, not until he next pissed him off – clearly understanding he hadn't wanted any of this. Seeing women overly confident with their prowess had reminded him of Katherine. Maybe deep down all he'd wanted was a woman who just was the opposite of her in every single way.

It really didn't help either that Elena seemed to fit the bill perfectly, somehow embodying some of Katherine's traits – the sarcasm, the quick temper etc. – and making them her own so that comparing the two of them just seemed out of the question.

He had to marvel at that.

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In the restroom, Elena splashed cold water on her face, which smeared her make-up, but she was beyond caring about that.

Damon was left ordering the meals, and she was frankly surprised he was continuing this whole endeavour, seeing how rude she'd been earlier. It was a habit now to kick back when somebody came dangerously close to hurting her. Once, Caroline had made a remark about how running a shop shouldn't really count as a career and Elena had gone ballistic, not quite sure why that remark had hit her so close to the heart.

How could she explain all this to Damon without giving away anything about herself? If she slipped and spilled some information that was just too personal, she ran the risk of turning this into a date. Neither of them wanted that. She'd been weirdly irritated at the sight of him when she'd first appeared, only because some of the buttons on his shirt being undone had flustered her. His shirt revealed a triangle of chest, and that wasn't good decorum for a business meeting. Particularly when said chest, from what she'd seen anyway, highlighted a set of toned muscles that had distracted her on more than one occasion.

Why was she overanalysing this? There wasn't anything between them other than this angry tension which spilled in either one direction or the other. It was like they were on a set of scales, initially holding the same amount of baggage to put them on an equal level, but occasionally the odd remark would tip the scales, revealing perhaps the other person was more damaged than originally thought.

As she stepped back out into the dining area, having adjusted her make-up beforehand of course, Elena let her eyes linger on Damon, noting with some disconcertment that he seemed to have spaced out, his mind elsewhere, with his jaw slackened a little. In a strange way, she found it endearing.

Gracefully, she strode back to his table, sitting herself down, aware the moment she'd come back into his sights that distant look had just vanished instantly. She tried to ignore the effect that little gesture had on her.

"Just had to freshen up," she said, by way of explanation.

"No need to explain," was his response, a lazy smile gracing his lips before he'd even realised he was letting his guard down a little.

"Look, I'm sorry for having to say this, but I can't sell my shop," she spoke, ruining the moment entirely. "It's been in the family for a long time. Before it was mine, it was my parents. Before them, it was their parents'. I recognise times are harder now, but that only makes my determination stronger. So as much as I appreciate your offer, I'll have to decline."

"That's fine," Damon said, surprising her entirely. "Look, I knew what I was getting myself into the moment I walked in and saw the way you were with your business. Some people own a business and act like they could sell it in a second with the right money. I looked at you and I knew that little shop meant something to you, and that getting you to agree to sell would be nothing short of a miracle."

"So, if you knew all that, why bother asking me out to dinner?" she asked, frowning.

He shrugged.

"I had to get my brother off my back, that was one reason," he replied casually, before his tone suddenly became serious. "The main reason though was I had to know more about you, and given our tumultuous start at friendship, I think I can be excused for believing that there is much more to you than meets the eye."

Her mouth gave away her surprise as the bottom lip drifted from the top. A deep flush coloured her cheeks, and she inhaled sharply, aware her heart seemed to have found a new rhythm which involved beating very fast before stopping on the oddest occasions – like the way he looked at her for example.

"So this is a date," she stated, numb to the very emotions which could've catapulted her mind to the heavens and back.

"Not really. A date has romantic connotations. This doesn't have to."

She tilted her head to one side.

"For a man who puts an alternate meaning behind everything he says, you're not very good at revealing what you're real intentions actually are. You're a frustrating individual."

He smirked.

"So I've been told."

"So, we're friends," she mused, elongating the word, as if trying to find the real meaning behind the word.

"It's up to you, but my offer is there for you to either decline or accept. All I know is that there are few women who would've confronted me about slamming the door in their faces, and even fewer who'd agree to even be in the same room as me after that. Some of my ex-girlfriends have thrown the towel in on our relationship over less, and never stuck around for damage control."

Elena officially knew they'd crossed a line somewhere. Business had never been on the table at all, and that completely scared her. She knew was attracted to Damon – she had been from the moment he'd opened the door to reveal a vision of aesthetic perfection – but she was also aware that after Elijah, her dating history had just not existed. She'd been too terrified of opening herself up to another man and run the risk of him walking out her life forever.

But Damon had been hurt too. She read it in his body language; hell, even the way he'd greeted her for the first time had screamed of someone with emotional issues. His books had told a similar story – no pun intended – revealing a soul between the pages which had slowly been distorted and crushed resulting in _1864, _which contained the bitter remnants of that soul. Did she dare even strike up a relationship with a man with eyes like thunder, and an attitude that could offend even the most easygoing of people? Truthfully, she found his hostile behaviour easier to take, easier to walk away from, but the way he'd been tonight made her realise they were walking a very fine line here.

If she wasn't much mistaken, he was attracted to her too but, like her, had absolutely no idea how to proceed, so it was probably fair to say his own dating history was as sparse as hers.

The thought eased her nerves a little, and she decided to just let the chips fall where they may in regards to this evening. Caroline would question her later, and she could try and plan her answers to them in her head so that nothing would surprise her, but the one question she was internally struggling with happened to be simplest.

_What were they doing here?_

And, more importantly, could she handle the fallout if what they were slowly building here just simply shattered without warning?

Judging by the way she felt when his eyes locked on hers, how she watched his every moment, trying to interpret every move, every little gesture, she suspected the answer to that question was a resounding no.

She wanted his friendship, not just for selfish reasons, but to understand exactly how a man as exceptionally handsome as him had overturned every stereotype to turn out to be the heartbroken and not the heartbreaker.

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A/n: Thank you for all the reviews. I am actually astonished by the response to this fic. I decided to go against making Damon a womaniser as he seems to be in most AH fics, and try and humanise him in a different way. The next chapter will feature the aftermath of this date and some personal revelations for both characters. May at some point turn the rating on this to an M but not quite yet. I appreciate every comment I get so keep reviewing because it puts the biggest smile on my face.


	9. When It All Falls Apart

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 9

When It All Falls Apart

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Elena found herself enjoying the night air – it became so dark here so quickly, despite the fact it was a city teeming with light and life – as she walked alongside Damon, occasionally presenting him with a sidelong glance, as if trying to figure out whether this side of him was real or not.

He'd certainly let enough of himself go during the meal itself, and aside from that hideously blunt remark of hers, they'd gotten on surprisingly well. He never gave away much, she would say that, but what little snippets he did reveal had surprised her. He was a Scorpio, had one brother and no other siblings, and in his spare time, aside from sampling the finest liquors the bars here could afford, he occasionally enjoyed the odd long walk. The fact he had no other hobbies or interests – none that he spoke of anyway – disconcerted her slightly, but she let the matter drop, instead filling him in on little snapshots of her own life, explaining about her aunt Jenna, telling him her favourite hobbies besides reading were dancing – not the professional kind either, she confessed, just the kind that involved moving in a way that made you look insane, but at the same time told the world you couldn't care less how it viewed you – and volunteering at local schools, in a bid to help children get excited about reading.

He'd seemed to particularly like that about her, and she'd read it in the fact that after she'd said that, he leaned over the table, almost as if he was going to reach out and touch her, before drawing back, his teeth grazing his bottom lip displaying his current mood of contemplation.

She glanced at him again, looking at his dark leather jacket, unable to stop herself from shivering at the sudden breeze which seemed to pierce her very skin. She'd left her coat in her car, being the idiot that she was, and though it was only a short walk to where she'd parked it, she still didn't relish the idea of having to battle the cold all the way there.

She looked away, examining the world before looking back and noticing he'd shrugged off his jacket and was beginning to place it around her shoulders.

"You don't... I'm... You don't have to do that," she said, smiling even as her teeth began to chatter.

"Yeah, you look like you're simply sweltering from the heat," he spoke, rolling his eyes in good humour. "Let me be a gentleman on this one occasion, Elena. I'd never forgive myself if you turned blue and passed out."

"_Please_, you'd love that. It'd give you the chance to play the hero," she teased, and for some reason that caused a ripple of sadness to flicker across his eyes.

"I'm not the hero though, Elena. I couldn't play that role even if I tried."

She tried to search for the answer for the question that had been bugging her all night in his eyes, but he wasn't giving anything away. They kept walking, his jacket now balancing on her shoulders. Deciding to throw away the last of her pride, she slipped her arms in the sleeves, and gave a calculating look at the result.

She'd tried Elijah's suit jacket on at one point, but it had felt cold and sort of lifeless, and hadn't really made her feel anything trying it on. If anything, she'd felt like a child trying on a parent's clothing, almost embarrassed by the result, as if she were in some overgrown costume of a cartoon character. With Damon's leather jacket encompassing her body, however, she felt a strange sort of excitement, like she could be anyone or anything while wearing it. She would also be remiss in saying that the warmth of his body transferred to hers was not exactly unwelcome either. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him smirking at her.

"You pull it off," he commented. "Not as well as me, I must say, but it works."

"You're dazzling me with your compliments," she quipped dryly. "Stop – you're making me blush."

He chuckled.

"You're not like any other woman I've ever met, you know that right?"

"I know," she said, shrugging like it was an established fact, and she sauntered past, flashing him a grin before disappearing around the corner.

When they'd reached the destination where she'd parked her car, there was a moment where they simply stood there, alternating between smiling at each other and then looking away.

"So," he began, unsure how to end this evening.

It wasn't a date, but it felt like the end of one. You had the constant eye contact, the little gestures shared between them – him placing his jacket around her shoulders, her slipping it on while inadvertently doing this cute little shuffle, as if trying to make sure it stayed on her body – not to mention they were doing the exact routine where each individual tried to figure out whether a kiss was on the cards or not.

Except it was completely inappropriate to do here, given the fact they hardly knew each other.

She looked up at him, her doe eyes still trying to figure him out without much success.

"I guess this is me," she said lamely. "So – goodbye, I guess." She cleared her throat. "Thank you for dinner, Damon."

"Anytime," he said, fidgeting restlessly on the spot.

She made no attempt to move, just as he made no attempt to walk away. Up above them lay a dusty indigo sky, littered with the first of the stars, although they weren't very visible due to the landscape of the city, although you could just about make out the shape of the moon behind a cloud, and all of these signs told her she needed to get home to face the ruthless interrogation Caroline would no doubt have in store for her, but somehow she stayed glued to the present moment, unwilling to just walk away from it yet at the same time knowing she couldn't commit to it.

"_May the stars themselves vanish if this love should have an expiration date,"_ she couldn't help quoting, fixing her gaze at the heavens themselves.

"_For I couldn't count even on one hand the nights I've spent in the company of a woman who knows me even more than I know myself," _Damon, unexpectedly, quoted back. "Not one of my finer pieces of writing, I must say."

"I dunno," she murmured, hiding a smile as she shrugged off his jacket and handed it back to him. "I don't think anybody talks like that in real life, but maybe that's the point of writing. To create situations and characters we want to be real."

"I don't like talking about my writing," Damon interrupted, looking uncomfortable. "It's a part of my life I wish I could forget. I was a different person then. Naive. Selfish, especially when it came to – " He stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly withdrawing from the conversation, and she could see he'd come dangerously close to revealing the cause of his sudden aversion to everything. "Never mind."

Before she even knew what was happening, Damon had opened her car door, resting his arm against it as she slid into the driver's seat.

"Drive safe," he purred, his usual smirk back in place. "I thoroughly enjoyed this evening, Elena." His eyes softened fractionally. "Have a good night."

"You too."

She closed the door, giving him one last smile as she started the ignition and reversed her car out of the parking lot, still marvelling at the fact he stood there, watching after her even as she disappeared into the night.

Despite the success of the night, Elena had an almost overwhelming sense of disappointment that it hadn't ended the way she'd wanted it too. Maybe he'd felt the same. All she knew was that simply driving away from him had created this ache inside her that she couldn't explain. She needed closure from the night neither of them had been able to provide. This could've been done with a simple kiss on the cheek, or even a handshake, but there was a solid distance between them neither of them dared to cross. She'd felt it, he'd felt it, but something had prevented them from making the attempt in the first place.

Leaning back against her seat, Elena found herself joining the late night traffic, locked in silent contemplation. He hadn't given her his phone number, so clearly he didn't want to do this again – then again he knew how to find her, so maybe it was a pointless gesture – and that thought tortured her a little, until she remembered she didn't get involved with men anymore for exactly this reason. The waiting and hanging on, which were all part of the initial process of dating, was something she couldn't put herself through again. Caroline had tried to set her up with a few dates, but something had stopped her from going through with any of them, and for all she knew one of them could've turned out to have been Mr Right.

But maybe there was no perfect someone for everyone. Maybe there were a handful of people compatible with each individual on earth, and you just had to navigate your way into finding them. Elena didn't believe in the concept of soul mates, but she appreciated the romantic notion behind it. The idea of two people being entwined by something bigger than themselves – fate, destiny, call it what you will – fascinated her, but it also frightened her, because if something like your love life was supposedly pre-determined, did that render every decision you made which led to you finding your "soul mate" as pre-determined too?

She didn't know what to believe anymore.

All she knew was that one "date" with Damon Salvatore had called into question her entire belief system, and nothing from this point on would make any sense to her anymore.

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Friday dawned quicker than Elena had expected. To her surprise, Caroline hadn't ended up calling her to interrogate her for details regarding her date with Damon – and yes, that was what she'd ended up dubbing it, to save confusion of trying to explain why it wasn't.

But still, Elena couldn't help dwelling on it all the same, mostly to fill the lonely hours. She overanalysed everything, wondering how he would've interpreted it, and she came to the somewhat perturbing conclusion that it seemed all this extra thought that went into something that supposedly was an innocent business venture meant that it had turned out to be a date after all. By the end of the night she'd even been expecting a chaste kiss of sorts, and she was sure he'd been contemplating the action himself, which meant they'd parted ways in a similar state of confusion.

At work, she was sorting out some of the displays, still in the throes of deep contemplation, when Jenna surprised her with a visit. There was still an hour before she opened up shop, but it still caught her off guard that her aunt had chosen this time to visit. Now she would be distracted, torn between a past and present conversation, her mind half in the moment, half back on that night with Damon.

"You're looking busy. Am I interrupting?" Jenna asked, looking around with approval. "Stupid question really..."

"Actually I've an hour before I have to open." Elena put down the book she'd been sorting out. "Are you okay, Jenna?"

"I had to see for myself what you've done with the place since I last laid eyes on it," Jenna answered, meandering around. "Your mom would've loved it."

"Really?"

"She'd always wanted to run a bookshop ever since she watched _You've Got Mail_," Jenna replied, smiling. "That was her favourite movie."

"She always told me it was _Dirty Dancing,"_ Elena said, frowning.

"Oh, that movie was her favourite too," Jenna confirmed, smiling at an untold memory. "But your dad hated it– something about hating the fact that an older man could seduce a younger woman with raunchy dance moves and get away with it." She shrugged. "So your mom always told him _You've Got Mail _was her ultimate favourite movie. Not that your dad was controlling or anything, but I think he was always afraid she'd find some sort of dancing class and be caught up in the romance of it all."

"Can't imagine my dad being jealous," Elena commented with a chuckle. "He was the most secure man I've ever known."

"Oh, Grayson had his insecurities." Jenna suddenly smirked. "I remember one particular conversation revolving around you which proves that fact."

"Oh yeah?"

"He said the first guy you got serious with would have to face an assault course and a twenty four hour interrogation if he wanted his approval." Jenna repressed a giggle. "Miranda was determined to be the parent who never interfered, but I think she was terrified of the day you'd come home with a guy who you claimed to be 'the one'."

Elena felt a stab of pain hit her. Her parents had never got the chance to meet Elijah, which was perhaps for the best given the way that particular chapter of her story had ended, and they'd never seen her completely and irrevocably in love. Yes, she'd shared a brief history with Matt where they'd dallied with romance for a while, but her mom had been able to see, even before herself, that they were better as friends. They'd seen her with guys but no one she'd been head over heels over.

Sometimes the grief would hit her every now and again. She couldn't think about her future, about marriage and children when she knew she'd be walking herself down the aisle, and telling her children stories about their grandparents rather than them being alive to display their wonderful qualities. When Elijah had proposed, a few days afterwards, when the glow had worn off a little, he'd found her curled up on their bed, in tears because she didn't have a dad to walk her down the aisle, or a mom who would be able to help her pick out the perfect dress and do her hair, and it hadn't really hit her until she'd glossed over some wedding magazines, with a section specifically targeting parents with tips on how to make their son/daughter's big day unforgettable.

Truthfully, she'd avoided talking about her parents with anyone, even Jeremy, because the wounds were still raw. How did you ever get over a loss that substantial? Time could only do so much before it left you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart and attempt to move on. Not talking about them had helped immensely, if only with the denial process to the point where sometimes it felt like she'd deliberately cut them out of her life due to some big row, as opposed to life simply cruelly snipping them away from her without at least letting her put up a fight for them to stay. And still sometimes she found herself swept up in the busy traffic of the city, fighting the urge to scream and shout that it was her fault her parents were dead, not that any one of them would've cared. After their deaths, her and Jeremy had had a long talk, and though he'd made sure to reassure her it wasn't her fault, she'd felt like that was just a show, that really deep down he resented her for being the sole survivor of that accident, that he would always blame her for the reason why all they had for parents anymore were pictures of the people they would never get to watch grow old as they grew up.

Maybe sometimes she still felt that way, but at the same time Elena was acutely aware that actions set things in motion that could never be stopped, and the whole point of life was to live with those actions. There was no re-do button, or the option to start over – it was either get on with it, or succumb to fatalism.

"Do you need any help for today?" Jenna offered, as if sensing the subject was still very much a sore one for her. "I want to feel useful, and if I'm gonna live here permanently, I need to do something productive in between finding jobs."

"Any idea where you're going to start looking? I did tell you about Matt..."

"I know, but as cliché as it's gonna sound, I don't want to go from what I did back home to bar work. I'd rather go up the career ladder, not slide down a rung or two."

"Sometimes you gotta start at the bottom though, Jenna, no matter what you've done before. It sucks, but if there's one thing my dad told me it was that it's much more satisfying to work for your achievements than to simply receive them."

Jenna smiled softly.

"They would be so proud of you, Elena."

Elena hugged her, partly because she appreciated Jenna's comforting words, partly to hide the signs of grief which still threatened to surface now and then.

"If you want to help around here, Bonnie's taking some time off to be with her Grams, so you can help me with the customers if you want," she offered.

"I cannot believe Bonnie commutes back and forth from Mystic Falls to see her Grams," Jenna said, shaking her head. "That's dedication. The journey here alone almost killed _me!_"

"She's virtually the only family Bonnie has left. Her dad is always travelling, and her mom abandoned her when she was a child. She's always had to fend for herself and for her Grams too. People used to say cruel stuff about Sheila when we were growing up."

"I caught some of the rumours when I was around too," Jenna remembered. "They called her a witch, a drunkard...and those were some of the nicer ones...and even an old hag. Couldn't meet a nicer woman, and that's who small town kids choose to harass..." She shook her head with disgust. "What happened to a little good old fashioned graffiti as a form of rebellion?"

Elena chuckled, loving the fact that Jenna was about as far from a conventional parental figure as you could get. She was definitely more the fun aunt figure than the step-in parental authority figure, and she'd loathed being tagged that so they'd actively avoided treating her any differently much to her appreciation, but she was also firm and quick witted, which meant she could handle Jeremy better than Elena had expected, and she remembered walking down one day to find them trading stories about their days of taking drugs. That was how they'd connected, how Jenna had broken through to Jeremy, and she would always be grateful for their aunt's influence, particularly in that department.

An hour later, Elena had opened up, and gave Jenna some instructions to keep her busy. She gave her the code for the till, and got busy trying to do some last minute organising.

When the bell on the door rang, signalling a customer, she instinctively turned around, half hoping it was Damon – for reasons still unknown to herself – and was met with a suited figure with a passive expression, who started circling the room like a vulture, occasionally picking up the odd book, clearly not interested in buying any of them, before putting it down somewhere else, much to her annoyance.

"May I help you?" she asked, slapping on her best show face, smiling with politeness even though instinctively she didn't like this man at all.

He had beady little eyes, a misshapen nose, and skin as wrinkled as parchment, so that put him around the fifty years mark. His suit was expensive looking – and her heart gave an unexpected pang as she realised how she knew to tell the difference between a cheap design and an expensive one – and he seemed to dust it down every so often, as though walking through the door of this shop had caused it to become infested with dust mites. He walked stiffly, but with purpose, and when his eyes landed on hers, she knew he wasn't here to buy any books.

"Miss Gilbert, I presume?" he said, reaching out a hand.

She tentatively reached out to shake the proffered hand, her gaze quizzical as she appraised him.

"That would be me. Who are you?"

"My name is Matthew Crowley, of Crowley & Sons, and I'm here to talk to you about your little...business." The sneer wasn't visible, but it was pronounced in every word he said, every syllable unnecessarily dragged out. "May we go somewhere private to talk?"

Elena gave a passing glance in Jenna's direction, and her aunt gave her an encouraging smile and a nod to let her know she would be okay in her absence, and then turned back to Mr Crowley before nodding her consent, gesturing for him to follow her.

She led him to the small staff lounge adjacent to the stockroom, closing the door before turning to face him, inwardly squirming at the very idea of talking to him one to one without any witnesses. Actually, if she was honest, she hated the idea of having to deal with financial matters without Caroline backing her up. Caroline could talk anyone down, so ruthless and confident was she with the way she handled business clients, old _and_ new.

"You are aware your profit intakes these past few months have been undergoing huge drops, aren't you Miss Gilbert?" Mr Crowley said, cutting to the chase.

"Wait – _what?_"

"And that all clients are dropping business with you because they no longer want to be associated with a failing business?"

"I – "

"And to top it all off, you're a month behind on payments on this actual building?"

Elena was fuming.

None of this information had reached her at all. A deep flush of humiliation coloured her cheeks as she listened to Mr Crowley drone on about the other offences her humble shop had supposedly committed financially. It made a shocking kind of sense, given the low numbers of customers who had been filing through the doors recently, but Caroline had always reassured her that their loyal customers kept them from going under. Elena should've realised her friend's ability to spin a good story wasn't limited to simply pleasing business clients.

She felt angry, betrayed, and most of all hurt. Why would Caroline lie to her like this? More importantly, how had she not demanded to see the finance sheets each month? It was as much her fault as it was Caroline's for assuming her friend could handle sole responsibility of such a chief position, but then again how was she supposed to assume otherwise when Caroline's résumé boasted of a long list of positions where her role had involved organisation events and making sure they were successful?

"You have a month to make up this sum total, Miss Gilbert," Mr Crowley informed her, pointing to a large number on a piece of paper, which had been highlighted and underlined as if the number itself hadn't stressed the importance of this situation. "If payments are not met, the future of this business will be taken under consideration, and most likely the property will be put up for sale. Here is my card," he handed her a small white card, with the name of his company printed in ugly black letters in an equally ugly font, "if you have any other questions or wish to get hold of me."

He strode past her, completely unaware he'd shot her entire world to sunshine within the space of five minutes. She stared after him, wondering how she was going to raise enough money to pay the debts she owed.

She sank into a nearby chair, resting her head in her hands, feeling as if every problem in the world had come crashing down on her at once, leaving her almost buried in a mountain she couldn't possibly climb her way out of. She had a month to raise an obscene amount of money for a shop that couldn't possibly survive any longer than that month. That was her reality. Did she try and reach for a miracle or did she resign herself to the inevitable?

Eventually, she had to face the music, so she walked back out to where Jenna was, and somehow the truth seemed louder out here than it had in the other room. The reality was you could question a hundred random people on the street and only a handful, if that, would even know where her shop was. Most would admit they had never heard of it and go about their day. Her shop wasn't popular, which meant it didn't make a lot of money, and stupidly she'd assumed the sales they did make had been enough to keep them afloat. Was it wilful ignorance that kept her going, or just stupidity? How did one run a business and not think it was strange that it was still going strong despite the severe lack of sales they'd endured recently?

"You okay?" Jenna asked, immediately seeing the tense look on her face.

Elena physically couldn't respond, but she was sure the pain and humiliation in her eyes probably gave everything away. She folded her arms across her stomach, feeling inexplicably sick and angry and confused, and stumbled towards the till, Jenna instinctively reaching out towards her.

"I need to go home," she managed to get out. "I – I'll have to shut up shop..."

But she couldn't. Not if she didn't want to make her situation worse. But Elena wasn't in the mood to try and pretend everything wasn't falling apart right in front of her, and the worst part was that this crisis was bringing all the other emotions from other traumas to the surface and she couldn't lose control right now.

She inhaled deeply, banished the panic from her body, and retreated back into the cold, detached facade which had helped her survive all these years, and turned back to her aunt, who looked suitably worried.

"Just a little financial trouble, Jenna, but I'm sure it'll be fine," she said in response to Jenna's questioning expression. "It's hard to remember sometimes Mom handled all of this before me. She never lost her cool like I'm doing right now."

"Yeah but Miranda was a very different person to you," Jenna reminded her softly. "She was one person in the business world, another when she was at home with you. She would be proud of you for not giving up on this place even after..." she swallowed, "...well, you know."

Elena suddenly fell silent, remembering, as if it wasn't already obvious, that she may have lost her parents, but Jenna had lost a sister in all of this, and instead of getting to mourn, she'd been bundled with two grief stricken teenagers on the brink of losing their very sanity. Filled with sudden remorse at her ignorance, Elena realised they were both at a crossroads in their lives. Maybe taking the day off, though it would cripple her financially, wouldn't be such a completely demoralising thing to do.

"Let's take the day off," she announced, forcing some cheerfulness that she didn't feel into her voice. "I'll close shop and I can show you the city. Take you to my favourite spots."

"Are you sure, Elena?" Jenna peered at her critically. "I may not own one cent of common sense, but I think taking the day off could make things worse..."

"I know, Jenna, but Caroline's been lying to me, and if I stay here and sulk, it'll make my anger get worse and worse, and I'll do something I'll regret," Elena sighed. "If I get some fresh air, maybe soak up some sun, it might calm me down enough to have a rational conversation with her when I next see her."

Jenna bit her lip, clearly unhappy with that response, and Elena sensed there was more she had to say on the issue but was holding back, for whatever reason.

"Okay," she eventually agreed. "But first take me to Matt's bar." She rolled her eyes at the look Elena gave her. "I'm getting desperate – sue me. I did some bar work in college, so Matt's gotta at least give me a shot, right?"

"He'll hire you on the spot if I have anything to say about it," Elena assured her, linking her arm through her aunt's. "And if I end up losing the shop, I might well be joining you behind that bar."

Jenna peered at her critically, as if trying to assess the real crisis Elena was undergoing – namely, a lack of faith in her so-called friend, as well as herself – and then gave a soft chuckle.

"You're built for bigger things, kiddo," her aunt said, sounding somewhat prophetic. "The day you end up behind a bar will be the day I meet a guy who doesn't end up breaking my heart in some clichéd fashion."

"You'll find someone, Jenna," Elena predicted, as they both walked out, their faces instinctively craning towards the sunlight and the piercing blue sky above them. "Sometimes you just have to take a step back and let fate take over. He's out there somewhere – your Mr Right."

"So is yours," Jenna returned, grinning. "Now, what would be the odds of our Mr Rights coming by in the next month or so? Word back home is Logan is planning a trip here soon to talk about making the leap from local news reporter to national." She grimaced at that idea, causing Elena to laugh. "If we happen to meet – and that's a colossal if – I'd rather have my new man draped on my arm, ready to brag about my newfound happiness to his smug toad-like face."

"I'm sorry, are you planning on going out with your Mr Right, or wearing him like you would a coat?" Elena joked.

Jenna smirked.

"Haven't decided yet. Now let's go before I change my mind."

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Now and then Damon liked to torture himself by looking up news regarding Katherine Pierce. She was hard to track, and knew how to avoid the people she wanted to avoid, but he still had learned to pick up on little signs that told him exactly where she was. And this was all by looking at the newspaper. Written clues like – _anonymous female entrepreneur_ – gave her away each and every time, like she was leaving a subtle trail behind for those who knew her well to follow her progress, and by the time her name was attached to any big company or corporation, she'd taken off towards her next big venture, easily bored, difficult to tie down, the latter vice he could certainly relate to. Right now all clues seemed to suggest she was in Canada somewhere, but she was being even more cryptic than usual, so that could've been a guess on his part.

She was a businesswoman first and foremost, but she used underhanded tactics to attract clients and keep them on board. She'd never – as far as he knew anyway – gone to lengths of seduction to do so, but he suspected there were perhaps one or two clients that knew her in the same ways he did. No, Katherine preferred to use her sultry voice to get by in the business world, and he was aware there were several corporations – European ones, no less – who knew her well. Sometimes he would come down in the middle of her night, and she'd be on the phone to one of clients from England, giggling at something stupid that made every bone inside of him quiver with jealousy and hot rage, but then she'd turn around and her eyes would thaw out the worst of his own nature, her coy smile telling him she was his and only his.

Two months ago she'd been in Paris, mingling with the fashion world for the briefest of moments before delving into darker ventures in the cultured city. Six months before that, he'd caught snippets, whispers, _rumours _that she was in California, soaking up the sun while at the same time leeching onto small businesses until they bloomed into the successes she could claim credit for.

Katherine was charismatic, bold, fearless, and had made a name of herself wherever she went. Dark curls surrounding a face too olive skinned to be mistaken for porcelain, yet her features could stiffen and twist into something that very much embodied the hardness of porcelain, she was a beautiful woman he couldn't seem to shake. She'd buried herself into his bloodstream, meaning every word he read or write was tainted with her perfume, making it impossible for him to do either one of those activities anymore. Her hips curved perfectly; her fashion breathed her personality, from the low cut tops that sung of her pride for her perfect body, to the jewellery she adorned which spoke of her love for the expensive things in life. Every part of her lived and haunted this house, a house they'd shared briefly before she'd left, unfortunately neglecting to take away her very essence with her in the process.

And for one glorious evening, he'd been able to forget that she still had a hold on him. He'd basked in the company of a woman with gentle eyes, and a tongue as sharp as his, and revelled in the fact that life, for a brief moment, could be beautiful. Then he'd walked back home, and her perfume still lingered, and curling up in between the sheets had reminded him of what his house lacked, and it was back to feeling sorry for himself. Was that what his life had become now? A meaningless string of days which started and ended the same way?

Damon glanced at the dark oak desk his grandfather had passed down to him. He hadn't the heart to move it from his bedroom, but it still remained untouched, with sheets and sheets of paper gathered in an untidy pile still blinking at him from across the room, pens of indeterminate life scattered across the sheets, waiting to be used. The desk itself had no history, but it had been hand built by his great-grandfather, the Salvatore name printed in beautiful gold letters in the top left corner of the desk, discreet enough not to be noticed unless your eyes happened to fall that way. It had sentimental value, and sometimes he'd sat by it just to see if old habits tempted him back. No luck so far.

It struck him now that when Katherine had left, she'd taken a huge part of him with her. He'd loved and hated her with equal measure long before she'd walked out of his life for good. Their arguments had fuelled such stirring passages in his books that he couldn't help recall with a faint sensation of nostalgia. On their good days, he'd treated his characters with devotion, giving them happy moments to keep the momentum he'd built up going; on their bad days, he'd poured out his entire heart and soul and anger into the worlds he'd created. When a couple in his books fought, the insults and quips they'd hurled at each other had been conjured by a fragile and bitter heart. She was the inspiration that ran through his veins, the reason why he'd been able to pick up a pen and write the words he needed to write, although he'd been writing long before she'd been a part of his life. Now, he was like a pen without ink, a sword with a blunt edge, a storm without thunder.

In other words, his talents were redundant.

_He _was redundant.

Yet within the confinements of a single second on that night, he'd felt the urge to write again, if only to put onto paper the way Elena had looked down for the briefest of moments only to resurface with a million different thoughts reflecting in the prisms of her eyes, her hand raised to prop up her chin as she'd regarded him seriously, one corner of her lips tilted ever so slightly upwards to resemble the ghost of a smirk which could also have bloomed into a genuine smile. So much potential in a single expression had leaped out at him that his fingers had clenched, as if imagining themselves wrapped around a pen, the words flying fast and furiously from the end of it. And in the blink of an eye, she'd gone back to impassive, yet flushed, and he'd gone back to distant and cold, retreating into the shadows like an elusive creature of the night.

He'd thought about calling in on her shop. In fact, he'd almost made the effort to do so, but something had drawn him back. Call it fear, or an inexplicable urge to run from anything with the potential to draw him back into that warm sun-soaked world again, but nonetheless it had made him hesitate, and like a man with a gun, he knew the moment you hesitated about anything, it made you less likely to commit to the action.

The moment had passed now. He had to let that elusive fantasy of seeing her again disappear. She was dangerous to the isolated little bubble he'd created for himself and, really, you'd think he would've learned by now that women like her – powerful, sharp tongued, intensely beautiful women – were the heartbreakers in his world, not the heartbroken.

Yes. It was best to stay away. Best to keep his heart – and, for that matter, his writing tools – locked away to keep himself from getting jaded again.

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A/n: Apologies for the delay in uploading this chapter. Real life got in the way but I'm back now and gonna aim to try and post a chapter of this once every two weeks. So every other Tuesday, unless I turn into superwoman and get a chapter done earlier, I'll post a chapter. If real life clears its schedule, I might aim to post a chapter up once a week. We'll see. Anyway thank you all for your kind reviews and thoughtful comments. I know it's easy to demonise Caroline in this chapter but next chapter will show Elena confronting her and the reasons for Caroline being the way she is will be unravelled further along the story. Flashbacks will at some point be introduced, so look forward to them Happy reading guys


	10. Sweetest Lies and Coldest Truths

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 10

Sweetest Lies & Coldest Truths

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On those rare days she didn't find herself enclosed in a tiny shop, Caroline spent her time in a flat she usually shared with Bonnie, researching areas of potential interest, highlighting news topics before attempting to rearrange them into her own articles to give her own spin on a topic. The media, despite the fact no one seemed to trust it these days, was a career she one day hoped to branch out into. Broadcast journalism, in particular, seemed right up her street, so she would practice giving on air reports, using a shampoo bottle as a microphone, or whatever else was available at the time.

Bonnie sometimes teased her that she just wanted the maximum attention possible, hence the somewhat lucrative career choice, but Caroline wanted the opportunity to give people the chance to have faith in the media again. She'd seen some of those reporters who clearly looked as if they had no clue what they were doing, and even worse, you had ones who knew what they were doing but lacked the passion to really drive home the message of what they were reporting on. Some were old, clearly in need of a push for retirement, and some were just too young and inexperienced. She felt like she was perfectly in the middle, young enough that she could last for a long time in the business, but at the same time not so young that she didn't know when the Vietnam War was, for example, although obviously she wasn't that old to have been alive when it had occurred.

Right now, she was looking at a news website, focusing on a story about a string of vandalism occurring in the centre of Seattle. Memorising the basic facts of the report, she inhaled deeply, readying the camera she'd set up for herself. She knew that before she pursued this career, it was important to create a portfolio of her work in and around the media, and though she had footage of herself doing a news report after winning a competition in Mystic Falls, she felt that that wasn't enough to give her an edge over any other people who wanted the same career that she did. So she filmed herself covering news topics – sometimes the popular stories everyone was chasing, sometimes the little known ones, just to give herself a variety to show – and gave a different spin on it, making sure to smile when the occasion called for it, and when it didn't call for it to look absolutely solemn and, above everything else, sincere. She didn't want to go into the media world and get by on the fact she was a blonde attractive woman. The whole premise of the movie _Anchorman _had been about trying to get rid of those old stereotypes, while putting new ones in place, such as the fact a woman could do a man's job and do it even better on some occasions. She wanted to be a likeable news reporter; now how many of those could you say existed?

There was a knock on the door, which pulled her out of her thoughts. She headed towards the door, pulled it open, only for Elena to come sauntering in, her eyes remarkably cold, even for a person who'd made herself become cold over the years. This was something new, something else, and Caroline felt herself suddenly tensing up, as if anticipating a fight.

"Hi," she began, inexplicably nervous, "I wasn't expecting to see you – "

"I know you wanted to work on something, Caroline. Today is one of our quieter days," Elena agreed, her eerily calm tone alerting Caroline to the fact something big was going to go down and she had no way of stopping it; she just had to ride the storm out. "Then again, we've had a lot of quiet days recently."

"It's nearly winter," Caroline remarked, her voice trailing off as she studied her friend carefully, waiting for her to say what was really on her mind, "there are fewer people on the street." She paused before asking, "Is everything okay?"

Elena seemed to inwardly struggle with something, a flash of her true emotions appearing before rapidly fading into this icy expression that genuinely chilled Caroline to the bone. She waited patiently for her friend to unload what was really on her mind, secretly hoping that her friend was finally willing to talk about what she'd closed her heart to all these years. In the end, what really came to the surface took her by complete shock.

"I had an interesting visit today from a guy claiming that our shop is heading for financial ruin," Elena began, her voice too casual, too devoid of any emotion for Caroline to be comfortable with. "Know anything about that, Caroline?"

"Um – "

"And he said we've one month to pay the debts we owe on the shop before the property is taken away from us. And he also said we've been heading for trouble for a while now, so where do you suppose he's got all this information from?"

"Elena, I – "

The anger suddenly burst from the sockets of Elena's eyes like water from a dam, as the control her best friend had maintained up until this point slipped through her fingers.

"_How could you?"_ she fumed, near enough yelling at her. "I get you're in charge of the finances, but _I own the business, Caroline. _Why am I the last to know that Pages To Go is in serious trouble? Why am I only just hearing now that we've been losing clients left, right and centre? Why?"

"You think I liked keeping that a secret from you? It sucked!" Caroline exclaimed, her voice heated, tears leaping to her eyes. "But Pages To Go, believe it or not, is the _one _thing that's keeping you alive right now, Elena. And I'm not being literal here. The only time I see life in your eyes is when you're in that shop, helping out the customers. _That's it. _The rest of the time you're pretending to live your life when you're not doing that all. You don't go out, you don't date, you don't have fun... If you knew this shop was in danger of going under, you would've freaked."

"So lying to me about it was the better option?"

"I thought maybe we could make up the difference somehow. I thought I could wrangle a few new clients between now and next month! But it's so difficult when you have to explain to potential clients that what they would be investing their time and money into is a little known bookshop that's not even in the centre of the city!"

Elena's cheeks were an angry pink in colour; the depths of her eyes were flooding with betrayal and hurt, but Caroline had to plough on. Tough love was what Elena needed right now, and in no way was she going to be backed into some corner when she had had perfectly valid reasons for doing what she'd done.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm in the right, Elena, but I did what I had to do out of love. You once told me this shop was the last part of your parents you had left, and that if anything happened to it you wouldn't know what to do. I couldn't – " She gestured helplessly, wondering what words she could pluck out of thin air that would make a difference, that would make Elena listen to what she was saying. "I couldn't let you lose that one bit of hope that keeps you going from the start to the end of the day. If the worst came to the worst, I was going to tell you everything, but not after I tried fixing it first."

Elena pinched the ridge of her nose, clearly on the verge of falling apart.

"Let me try and put this into terms _you _might understand," she said, a hint of bitterness flavouring her tone. "Why is it each and every time we watch _The Notebook _do we both always yell at the screen whenever it comes to the bit when the mother admits to keeping the letters Noah wrote to Allie from her? You call her a controlling, neurotic, snobby bitch. And why? Because she kept a secret from her daughter which could've changed the whole course of her life! All because she wanted things to go her way, for her daughter's life to go the way s_he _wanted it to go! You're just like her, Caroline! Okay, your reasons for doing so might be better than hers, but you kept this information from me! If I knew we were going down under this fast, I would've –"

"What would you have done exactly?" Caroline demanded, her nostrils flaring. "You would've put on your cold mask and pretended you had this all figured out. You pretend to yourself that everything is all fine in your world, Elena, but the truth is you're a mess. And you won't admit you're a mess because of that stubborn Gilbert pride of yours! Bonnie's too damn polite to say it, but we both agree that you need to let out some of this angst you've been holding back on. You didn't have your proper mourning period after Elijah – "

"_Don't you say his name." _

" – left you," Caroline finished, her strong demeanour shaken by the look on Elena's face, which was a weak and feeble attempt at showing her anger. "You gotta deal with it, 'Lena. You still hurt over it. I know it. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about here."

"You know what?" Elena's voice shook with barely repressed fury. "I'm over all that. You can psycho-analyse me anyway you choose, and maybe you're right about the shop being the only thing that's keeping me together right now, but why would I trust your word anymore when you've proven it's useless? What other secrets are you keeping, Care? Are you cheating on me with another business?" She gave a harsh laugh at that, as if even she was aware of how maniacal she sounded right now. "I just – I gotta go... I can't handle this right now..."

"Elena..." Caroline pleaded, stepping forward, her hands outstretched, trying to show the fact she'd only lied to protect her feelings.

"Don't." Elena shook her head vehemently. "Just...don't. I'll fix this by myself. Don't even bother showing up anymore, Caroline. I know your heart really isn't in it anyway. Maybe you sabotaged it on purpose so you could have an out."

Caroline flinched at the accusation.

"Do you really think I'm capable of something like that?" she asked, her voice low, her own cheeks flushed with a pink hue that demonstrated her own anger, which had manifested itself after Elena's outburst.

"I don't know what you're capable of anymore," Elena admitted, her shoulders visibly shaking from the pressure this conversation was putting her under.

And with that she was out the door, leaving Caroline staring after her, shaking, realising how close she'd come to spilling the other dark secret she'd been harbouring. Elena was absolutely right to yell at her about this, but what she didn't know was that Caroline hadn't exactly been living in paradise knowing so much she couldn't change. She was a fixer; that had always been her way. If something couldn't be fixed, she moved on, end of story. To see her friend living, but not really living, killed her. So many times she'd coaxed Elena out to explore the city, and so many times had she watched Elena take a cab back, looking almost out of it, as if her mind and body were in two separate locations.

She ran a shaky hand through her vibrant blonde locks, suddenly not in the mood to undertake her mini project to send to any potential employers. She couldn't fix this right now, but perhaps there was someone else who could.

Now when she wasn't organising things, and meeting with people – and leaving them flabbergasted at how much she could talk – Caroline had a skill with observing little details, body language and the such, that told her sometimes more than what came out of people's mouths. She could tell when people were uncomfortable around each other, whether there was any way of fixing that, and most importantly, she could pick up on the signs of _chemistry. _In other words, how well people seemed to click.

She'd only been treated to a snippet of the actual scene, but when that guy – _sex on legs, _had been her primary thought regarding his ridiculously attractive appearance – had swarmed into the shop, leaving Elena rendered speechless, her mind had begun working overtime, questioning how Elena knew him and why she'd not been informed about this new development in her life. But the main thing she'd noticed was how uncomfortably comfortable they looked together, which sounded like a contradiction but in her own mind it made sense. It was like they were aware of the sexual tension between them, yet chose to tiptoe around it. Normally she would've been encouraging her friend to ravish him, but something had told her to hold back, that Elena wasn't someone you pushed into a relationship but guided.

What was his name again?

Damon something.

Ugh. Why had there been no mention of a last name?

Caroline deflated, knowing there was no way she was going to get through to Elena right now. She felt a mixture of guilt and frustration, and on top of that was this colossal lie she had to live with, resulting in one permanently semi-anxious Caroline who seemed to make her life whole by helping others fix theirs.

But she knew she had to try and fix what she'd done all the same. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise; maybe handling the shop all by herself would push Elena into the breakdown both she and Bonnie – they'd both agreed on this point, as harsh as it had been to put into words – knew she needed. She would have to take a back seat on this one, and pray that her meddling hadn't caused more damage to an already emotionally fragile girl.

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In Matt's bar – a humble, dark corner of the world she made sure to only visit occasionally – Elena found herself fuming over a vodka and coke, nursing the glass between her still shaking fingers, her teeth grazing her bottom lip to the point where if they dug in any harder they would've drawn blood.

She watched as Jenna and Matt caught up, the anger in her eyes thawing a little. Ever since a traumatic incident after her parents had died, when Jenna's cooking had started a kitchen blaze causing Matt, who'd been visiting Elena at the time, to leap to the rescue, making sure she got out safely before calling the fire services, they'd been as thick as thieves, earning Matt the nickname 'Super-Matt' which always put a massive smile on his face whenever it was used.

When she wasn't talking to Matt, however, Elena noticed her eyes drifted elsewhere, perusing the scene around her, possibly scouring for any men, although why she would try and find them in a bar of all places was beyond her understanding? This was the home of men – and women – who were the very definition of damaged goods, who drank to forget the real world and the problems in it. Alcohol distracted you for a while, but in the end there was no liquor strong enough to shield you from your own life forever.

"Where's your head at, 'Lena?" came Matt's teasing voice, and she blinked, noting he was watching her with amusement in his rich blue eyes, his nose wrinkling slightly in that adorable way he'd done ever since he was a child.

"Somewhere it shouldn't be," she muttered, finishing her drink, a sour look twisting her face. "Please tell me you weren't in on Caroline's plan to keep everything from me."

"Hey, the last time I saw Caroline was three months ago. She doesn't exactly keep in touch," Matt replied, wiping a glass as he spoke. "She never said anything about the shop to me if that makes you feel better."

"Shouldn't have asked really. I know you wouldn't keep something this huge from me."

Matt hesitated before plunging ahead with his question.

"Is what Caroline did really that bad, Elena? I get it was the wrong way to handle it, but her heart has always been in the right place."

"If her heart had been in the right place here, she wouldn't have lied," Elena countered, her eyes flashing with fury.

"True, but she's not your typical friend. She tries to fix things before she admits there's a problem. It's how she's always handled things. She can cut you down with one stare if she wanted to, so I'm presuming she was hoping she could get you some more time on repaying the debt on the shop."

"And then what? It's a sinking ship, Matt. I should've realised this from the beginning. Nobody wants books anymore. It's all online," Elena vented. "I'm just – " She exhaled slowly, reigning in those dangerous emotions which could've caused her to explode at any given moment. "This was something my mom would've known how to handle, you know? She was a mixture of Caroline and Jenna: a strong businesswoman, passionate about what it was she was doing, but also good at putting her foot down when she needed to. She would've known what cuts to make, what move to make next..." Her head slumped into her arms. "Maybe Caroline's right. Maybe the fact I'm letting this business consume me is dangerous. If it goes under, I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"I do," Matt said, and the sincerity in his voice had her raising her head to look at him. "You'll survive. It's what you've always done. You'll get past this, and find a new dream to make happen. You're just not good at letting go, that's all."

"Oh, Matty." She reached over and clutched his hand. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

He shrugged, smiling widely.

"It's a gift. I'm a bartender, we kind of have to be good listeners – or at least give the illusion we care about another person's problems."

"I'm hurt," came a really familiar voice, layered with tones of sarcasm and humour she could've recognised in a heartbeat. "So, all the times I've reached out to you about my problems, you've just _pretended_ to care?"

Matt stiffened, his eyes falling to hers instinctively, the urge to protect buried deep inside him, and his fingers lightly moved under hers, as if he longed to take her hand and take her to safety. She'd loved that about him, but at the same time she knew if he had this way he'd guide her away from every danger life could throw her way, and that was not the way to handle life at all. Sometimes you had to meet the danger head on, deal with it, and move on.

"What can I say, Damon? Your problems are just not that high a priority of mine."

"Wow." Damon sauntered into view, a mocking smile twisting his lips. "You think you know someone..." He took in her appearance, the mockery slowly sliding from view, his eyes absorbing every part of her, drinking it all in like a thirst he'd been dying to quench. "Gilbert."

"Salvatore," she returned, raising her empty glass in his direction, avoiding his eyes like they were individual suns which could burn their way through to her soul.

"Didn't take you for a day drinker."

"Circumstances change."

"For the better, clearly."

She raised her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze head on, feeling that inexplicable sense of danger Matt had been trying to protect her from. In this environment, he looked like a wild animal, capable of anything, his hair messy and unkempt, his face flushed and bearing a hungry expression. He was clad in his dark leather jacket, accompanied by a dark v-neck, and jeans that hung low on his hips, but not too low that they revealed anything other than his waistline.

An uncomfortable burning sensation gripped her at that moment, taking her attention away from her own problems. Her eyes were pinned to his, on occasion dropping to his lips which constantly rearranged themselves to go from a smirk to a smile, depending on which face his eyes happened to be pinned to; because they were on hers, his lips were poised in a smile that could've been mocking, but the rest of his face didn't seem to convey that same sense of mockery at all. His features remained frozen, as if waiting for her to make the next move, and the burning sensation only grew as a result of it.

"My usual please, Donovan," he drawled, his eyes refusing to leave hers.

"You should really broaden your horizons, Damon. Try another bar somewhere," Matt suggested half-heartedly as he went to pour Damon's drink.

"Now why would I do that when I've set up home here?" Damon returned, his smile turning back into his trademark smirk. "Might just come here more often now I know who else has turned to the liquor to get by."

She rolled her eyes at his shamelessness.

"It's not a habit, I can assure you. Just a one-time thing to get me through a bad day."

"Pretty sure that's how everyone's stories here started, E-l-e-n-a," he said, dragging out every letter in her name, and making it sound so erotic that she flushed. "Nobody here _decided_ alcohol was the only fix to help us through the day. We all started off having one bad day and then... poof... here we all are."

Elena couldn't decide if he was joking or not; the amusement in his eyes could very well be mockery, but either way she decided she liked seeing him playful. It lightened his eyes, making them resemble pieces of a sunny sky, reminding her of all those days spent sprawled out in her secret place, gazing up at the world above her own.

"Some of us," she said, emphasising the word _us _to get her point across, "have better things to do with our time than get wasted in a bar every day."

"Ouch. Are you implying that I'm wasting my life being here?"

She gave him a wry smile.

"If that's what you inferred from my reply, then yes, that's exactly what I'm implying."

He studied her carefully, the banter between them almost electric, and she found she was enjoying the way this afternoon had turned out. She should've guessed Damon would've ended up turning up here – maybe subconsciously she'd desired their encounter – but lately her judgement of things had been so poor, she could hardly blame herself for letting that small detail slip by her.

"Elena, are we ready to go – oh." Jenna, who'd been walking over to her, suddenly faltered, her eyes landing on Damon's, her breath catching in her throat. "Sorry. I didn't realise I was interrupting."

"You weren't," Elena assured her, giving Damon a sidelong glance. "I was just – "

"– Catching up with an old friend," Damon smoothly interrupted, capturing Jenna's hand with his before planting a kiss on it. "Damon Salvatore."

"Oh...my..." Jenna looked flustered, a nervous smile fluttering into view. "You certainly are a charmer."

Elena noticed her aunt was giving her some serious looks, and at one she actually mouthed, "_this is Damon Salvatore?!"_ in a way which seemed to be imply a fast exit was not on the cards. There was a new energy in this bar which hadn't existed before Damon had arrived, and it was making her uncomfortable, yet at the same time she remained where she was, unable to avoid looking at him, his smug smile both irritating as hell and endearing as sunshine. And the fact he'd charmed her aunt within ten seconds was both impressive and suspicious; Jenna wasn't usually into the whole kiss-on-the-hand approach into breaking the ice, yet here she was giggling like a school girl before a man who was beguiling in every sense of the word.

She suddenly felt irritated again, a hot feeling coming over her like dark clouds over a vivid blue sky, effectively chasing any positive emotions back out of sight. Damon's hot-and-cold attitude was really starting to wind her up. On their "date" – for lack of a better word – he'd been perfect and charming, a little flirtatious but a gentleman. Rewind a little to their lunch, and he'd been slightly distant, right up to the point where she'd broken through by talking about his books. Go even further back and he'd been a pig the moment she'd opened the door, judging her before a single word had left her mouth. The derision in his eyes had stung more than she'd cared to admit to herself. With a guy, she liked a sense of predictability, the ability to work him out, but Damon was just...

Well, he was everything she'd never wanted from a guy. He was rude, cold, closed off from the world, and yet those flashes of humanity promised so much more, and she found he was a mystery novel she couldn't quite wrap her head around. She just wasn't sure whether pursuing a platonic relationship with him was even worth it at this stage, although God knows she'd entertained the notion enough.

He'd been burned in the past that much was clear. Something or someone had damaged him – a woman, no doubt – and although she wanted to sympathise, it was hard to be drawn into someone else's drama when she was barely handling her own. But there was something about those eyes which kept her from walking away.

"Are we going, Jenna?" she asked, keeping her tone casual, although she was itching to leave, to escape this unbearable atmosphere that felt like electricity and pressure combined.

"Well, Matt accepted my plea for help for a job, so I guess we're done here," Jenna mused, staring at Damon with a coy smile on her face.

"You're going to be working here?" Damon's smile – that arrogant smile he'd worn the first time she'd laid eyes on him – widened. "Well my nights here just got a lot more entertaining."

Jenna laughed.

"I've dated guys like you. Charmers with big blue eyes who believe they're God's gift to women," she said, jabbing him in the chest. "I won't take sass from you on the job, I warn you now."

"I see where you get your feistiness from," Damon jeered at Elena.

She wasn't sure how to react to this particular side of him. He was a lot cockier than she remembered, and he lacked a filter to remove the offensive thoughts which spilled from his lips, although she knew this already, but something told her this was a wall he put up to push people away. She could see how it could work, but that still didn't explain why she wanted to take him aside and try and pull out the guy who'd talked, if only briefly, about the way he felt about his writing. Maybe she was just a sucker for lost causes. Maybe she saw a little bit of herself, and her own troubles, in him.

"By all means cut him off if he gets too arrogant for his own good," Matt advised Jenna, giving Elena a playful wink that had her smiling instantly. "I wish I could say I've never had to resort to that, but, well..."

Damon narrowed his eyes.

"I'm getting the feeling you're not too fond of me, Donovan."

"Give the boy a gold star," Matt responded, shaking his head. "You're a piece of work, Damon. Personally, I think it's a miracle you have any friends, let alone a guy like Alaric. I get paid to put up with your shit. He doesn't."

Elena witnessed a strange cloud of emotion hover across Damon's face, before his cold facade was back, like it had never dropped at all.

"Matt," she murmured, not sure why she was inclined to reprimand him for that remark.

It wasn't too hard a statement to have made, yet it had hit home for Damon for some reason. His eyes landed on hers, something unspoken passing between them before he shrugged, turned on his heel and walked out of the door.

"He's not a good guy," Matt said, in response to her indecisive look. "He's cold and detached, and he just – he treats people like they're disposable. You should hear the way he talks to Alaric."

"There's probably a reason for it," Elena defended him. "Nobody is like that without rhyme or reason."

"Maybe." Matt began serving other customers, his eyes continuing to drift to hers as he did so. "But he won't open up to anyone if that's the case. Frankly, the only reason I've not barred him from here is because I know no other bar would look after him the way I do. I call him a cab if he's too drunk to walk back, and I lend him the fare when he's out of money. It's kind of pathetic. Plus look at the way he treated you! Not exactly good guy behaviour is it?"

She shook her head, unable to describe why she was even defending Damon. Somehow one semi-decent interaction with him, on a date which had felt less than magical yet still had stirred something inside her bones, just didn't seem good cause to justify her decision to defend him against her own friend.

"I refuse to believe someone can be like that without good cause. He probably had his heart broken. It seems the most logical explanation."

"So did you," Matt reminded her. "And you dealt with it just fine."

_Did I? _Elena wondered, something Caroline and Bonnie had said finally resonating with her. _I don't remember dealing with it at all..._

Her cheeks began to whiten, as a fraction of that pain she'd felt the moment she'd realised he was gone began to bite at her. She pushed it back, but it seemed to get harder and harder to restrain. Was Damon the result of what happened if you spent years of repressing emotions that otherwise needed to be exorcised from your body? Was she doomed to become cold and snarky, fixating on one activity in her life to keep herself from falling apart?

_Oh God._

She was that person.

She was no better than Damon, who at least had the decency to admit what he'd become, and what he'd lost in the process of becoming this haunted version of himself. She'd verbally attacked Caroline, who really had done nothing except attempt to keep her sane for that little bit longer. What had she even become?

She managed to give Matt a small smile, noticing he looked concerned by her lack of response, wishing all the things she wanted to say would just surface from her lips, instead of remaining trapped in her mind where no one could hear them.

"Thanks for giving Jenna a job here, Matt. I really appreciate it," she managed to get out, changing the subject before this all became too painful to deal with.

"No problem." His eyes softened. "I'm always here for you, you know that right?"

"I know."

The problem with Matt Donovan – and you could ask anybody this – was that he was too good to be true. He was kind hearted, protective, sweet, but she just felt no levels of attraction towards him. He was on paper the perfect prince charming, but there was no...passion between them. That's why she'd never considered taking their relationship any further.

_"I used to think passion was just a sexual thing. But it's not. It lives inside you. It's more than a feeling, more than an emotion; it's a reaction between two volatile chemicals. It's the feeling you get when you've been sitting in the sun for too long, and the result is this burning sensation you know nothing will ever cool. It's what I feel every time you touch me; it's what you ignite in me. You can pretend otherwise, but passion is what fuels us. We've hated each other for so long we've never stopped to think if it could work from the other end of the scale. And damn it, we're gonna try. Because I can't think of anything worse than watching a lit match fall to the ground simply because we were too scared to let the flame burn for as long as it could."_

Damon's words would one day be the end of her, and they had this irritating way of clinging to her mind, flaring up on the oddest of occasions, managing to encapsulate passion with such fervour that she knew instinctively he'd written this during the height of a relationship. It made her almost envious, having that kind of experience to learn from. Elijah had been...amicable, agreeable, and they'd shared so many good memories, but looking back, could she describe what they'd had as passionate?

Maybe not.

They'd been in love, no questions about that, but love and passion were not necessarily mutually inclusive concepts.

Her head began to hurt taking all of this in, and without warning, she'd ran out of the bar, leaving a bewildered Jenna in her wake, not entirely sure where she was running to only that she needed to get away somewhere – anywhere.

Her first instinct was to head for her sacred spot, but then she turned and headed back the way she'd came in the first place, finding herself back outside her shop, surprised to see Damon lingering there, staring up at the sign like he was lost.

"Damon?"

He barely reacted to the sound of his name; only his shoulders gave the tiniest of shrugs to indicate he'd heard her.

"I went to take a walk. Ended up here for some reason," he murmured, finally craning his head to look at her.

"Any particular reason why?"

He shrugged again.

"Your shop is just – it's pointless. Books are obsolete. People just aren't interested in reading the written word anymore. It's a pointless way of trying to avoid reality."

"And binge drinking is the better way? It's not going to fix whatever problems you have, Damon."

"I don't binge drink, Elena. I drink to forget."

"Sounds the same to me."

"It's not." He looked momentarily displeased. "It's a way to pass the time. Nothing more."

She frowned.

"Pass the time? What are you avoiding exactly?"

He didn't disclose the answer. His lips tightened, and his eyes narrowed, and his entire body language shifted into guarded territory.

But she saw it.

She saw the look he gave the world that lay beyond the door right in front of him. The urge to write – to read – was still locked inside him. But he'd swallowed the key because he was afraid of what would be unleashed the moment he let his muse roam free again. She could relate to that.

She stood silently beside him, realising despite the fact they weren't even touching and she felt it. A spark of something. It burned like fire, stung like acid, and was as suffocating as smoke. She couldn't ignore it.

They turned together, his eyes locking with hers, and then he broke the spell by taking one step back before once again walking away from her, hands shoved in his pocket, the little lost boy demeanour visible once again. She yearned to help, but all she could do was watch him walk away.

Watch him disappear into the same shell she kept herself buried in.

What tragically mirrored lives they both lead.

* * *

A/n: I APOLOGISE. I meant to put this up Tuesday but I just got back from holiday so I was tired and I had to edit it before I put it up. Let me know if there's anything I've missed Thank you for all the reviews/faves/follows. I really appreciate it. Elena's now starting to realise what's happened to her, so she'll be making an effort to try and snap herself out of this mood she's always in. More Delena action to come, and Caroline will attempt to make amends with Elena next chapter. Thanks again for reviewing.

Curious to know if any of my readers are from the UK and going to the TVD convention in Birmingham in June. Get to meet some of the cast, the lovely Nina and Ian included so excited for that Just wondering anyway. Anyway, til the next time see you at the next chapter.


	11. Confessions of a Broken Heart

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 11

Confessions of a Broken Heart

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Damon hadn't meant to end up at Elena's shop that night. His guard had slipped; remarkably, one of Matt's careless digs at his personal life – which he normally wouldn't have batted an eyelid at – had actually settled with him, and in an effort to maintain some dignity – and in one respect keep himself together long enough not to lose his temper in front of Elena – he'd walked outside, his feet taking him in a random direction until he'd stopped outside her shop, gazing at the faded sign, at the dusky interior through the windows.

This was merely a property his brother wished to acquire, yet a small part of him wanted to dwell in it for an entirely different reason. A part of him wanted to spend a moment amongst the books, thumbing the spines of the thicker volumes, flicking through the pages of the slimmer, the words of better men and women alternating between whispering and shouting themselves hoarse in an attempt to break through to him. But this was a world he'd tried to forget, because pick up a book, any book, and you'd be bound to discover a love story of some kind, whether it took centre stage or was just a subplot that wove itself subtly through the strands of the main plot. He couldn't let himself be reminded that fictional love endured longer than real love; that was the plain truth of it. He kept his books, but he never let himself fall back into that old habit of letting other peoples' words sell him the false belief that every situation could be romanticised, that a few choice words could fix any problem with the right emotional motive behind it, that love was predictable enough to describe, when he knew from firsthand experience how _impossible _it actually was to jot the feeling down in a few descriptive words.

First of all, no two people were going to describe the same emotion in the same words. Sometimes love was rough and difficult and impossible to tame, but that just meant it _endured_; sometimes love was soft and cautious, like a security blanket you're given as a child to give you something to cling to when the world was otherwise unjust and unfair, and that just meant it _persevered. _If you were lucky enough to get best of both those worlds, you had the recipe for a happy ending, but Damon's experience of love had only been rough and difficult, and its undoing had been a betrayal which had ripped right through him, making recovery virtually impossible. Writing about anything else after that seemed out of the question.

But for one second, one moment, he'd slipped into his old ways, dreaming of worlds that only existed between the pages of books. Now here he was in reality, between the walls of a house with a crushing loneliness that suffocated him every day. He had the money to move away, but he was a coward. Regardless of the memories this place housed, he just hadn't the courage to start again somewhere else, and it took too much energy to do that anyway. So he was a lazy, cowardly, arrogant man with a mediocre job in a thriving city, just part of the crowd, and that suited him just fine even if part of him screamed for something better.

His phone rang, breaking him out of his concentration.

"Brother," he greeted, seeing Stefan's name flash up on screen. "Long time no speak."

Stefan had mysteriously been absent from work these past couple of days, and though it was not his business to pry, Damon couldn't resist a snarky comment regarding the sudden murky patch in his brother's otherwise faultless attendance record, but much to his disappointment, Stefan didn't react at all; hell, he didn't even return the salutation, merely launched into his interrogation regarding his encounter with Elena.

_"Did you get her to agree?"_

"Why are you only calling me_ now_ to find out how I've done?"

_"Because you wouldn't have kept me waiting for this long if there'd been a successful acquisition of the property."_

"Using your big boy words, Stefan. I'm impressed."

_"You're hilarious. I take it she wouldn't agree then?"_

"There were...complications."

He wasn't going to tell his brother that those complications encompassed a headstrong, stubborn, pain-in-the-ass woman with rich autumn brown eyes that just drew you in the moment your eyes locked on hers, nor was he going to tell him that what had started out as a innocent business venture had somehow ventured into date territory, which included the very awkward goodbye at the end. Some things were better left out in the grand scheme of storytelling, better left to the imagination.

_"Of course there were." _His brother sighed. _"Well I've done my research. In about a month, unless she meets payments, the entire property will be on the market anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter."_

Damon frowned.

Elena had never mentioned that to him. In fact, she'd been adamant nothing was going to happen to her shop, now why would she omit the fact that she was in financial ruin already? Was it some sort of stubborn pride that kept her from selling? Perhaps; it seemed the more plausible answer, but accepting an offer from a competing business to bow out gracefully didn't make her a sell out at all, if that's what she was afraid of.

Then again, she didn't appear to be someone who cared about what people thought about her, so maybe it was an issue of trust.

He couldn't blame her for not trusting him. Despite the rapport they'd built up, he knew there was probably a part of her always wondering if whether any of what he said or did was real, and he couldn't answer for the pure fact he wasn't entirely sure of the answer himself. He felt like he was living a double life, showing one facade to the world while the other lay locked inside his heart, but he preferred it to be this way.

"So the point of the whole trying to win her over plan was...?" he prompted, slightly pissed off that his brother seemed to know his efforts were doomed from the start.

_"To get you talking to someone other than Alaric," _Stefan confessed, "_And it was just pure happenstance that she happened to be young, free, and single, but you know – "_

"You manipulative bastard."

_"Actually, no I'm not. Nothing I said was a lie. I hoped coming from you, she might accept the offer. You're easy on the eyes, charismatic, and you're stubborn as hell..."_

"Guess you got my dating profile down to a tee then," Damon drawled sarcastically.

_"I don't know what I was expecting, but I guess I didn't account for her being just as stubborn as you. Maybe you've finally met your match, Damon."_

"So what was this exactly, a job or a blind date? Honestly, in your world, it always seems to be both. Remember Jessica?"

_"Hey, in my defence, she was married last I heard, and she owned a string of businesses that proved to rake in a profit last year. All I did was hope you could persuade her to let us invest in one of those businesses. How was I expected to know she'd have a meltdown, declaring her marriage over in the middle of a restaurant?"_

"Well, thanks to you, I'm no longer welcome at that particular restaurant due to, and I quote, 'my lack of control over my hysterical date'. I must say, the sight of her throwing her dinner at one of the waiters did make for an interesting anecdote at our annual party."

_"Yeah...well... excuse your younger brother for trying to extend your social circle."_

"Which would be all well and good, _brother_, if they weren't all attractive females who just _happen_ to be single. Kind of makes it seem like you're playing Cupid rather than advancing your own career."

_"Question my methods all you want, Damon. I'm just trying to get you out of your windowless cubicle to see the real world every so often."_

"Maybe I like my windowless cubicle."

"_And maybe Hell actually has a shot at freezing over this year."_

Damon didn't smile. He enjoyed the brotherly banter up to a point, but then they reached a point where their toes dipped in deeper waters they were really uncomfortable about exploring. The real issue lay in his lack of desire to connect with anything beyond the four walls of his home and office, and he resented Stefan's efforts in trying to change that. It was just a fruitless endeavour on his brother's part, and he reasoned that surely even Saint Stefan had to have had better things to do with his time than deal with his train wreck of a brother.

"Well, if that's all..." he drawled, indicating he was about to hang up unless Stefan provided a reason against doing so.

_"That's all. See you at work tomorrow."_

Damon inwardly groaned, remembering he was working the entire weekend, which meant his drinking time had been reduced considerably. He had to think about cutting back on his drinking anyway, because lately it had become an indulgence not a method of stress relief, but all the same he resented the choice he'd made to throw himself into an otherwise meaningless job. He shouldn't really be complaining, his brother had been very good to him in terms of getting him back on his feet, but he couldn't recall a conversation between them which hadn't revolved around work or his lack of a social life in some way. Stefan wasn't exactly a pushy brother, but his tendency to steer him in one direction or another was a habit he was starting to notice. It was something their father had done, although he'd been blunter, less discreet about it, making no excuses about the fact he expected the best from both his sons, regardless of what field of work they were involved in.

He needed a new vocation, something to fill up the hours where he wasn't working, sleeping or drinking, but what? He was hardly the man to have a thousand different hobbies, each of them tied to a separate dream he'd once harboured as a boy. His biggest passion undeniably was also his biggest weakness, and something he couldn't let himself explore again. Having a pen in his hand, or even having a laptop planted on his lap, meant the temptation to write and/or type was just too great, and usually what spilled from his head were dangerous thoughts that made dangerous love stories he couldn't resist the allure of.

He avoided clichés like the plague; that's what made his novels seem so fresh, or at least that had been what Andie had told him. But maybe that hadn't been accidental, because his and Katherine's love story had been as far from cliché as possible. They'd never had that romantic element to their love story. It was strictly about the passion; passion which had only grown more intense the more and more they'd spent time together. So perhaps it was best they'd gone their separate ways before it had destroyed them both. As it stood, only one of them had escaped from the relationship relatively unscathed, leaving the other to scavenge through the wreckage to try and find one remnant of truth in a web of lies.

But goddamn it, if the temptation to write wasn't still there all the same, instilled into his blood and his very DNA, causing him to think in monologues, talk in prose, and make monstrous fiction out of reality itself. It was just basic writer's instinct to take all his frustrations and vulnerabilities and shape them into characters he could treat as puppets, weaving their every action, every thought into a narrative which would kidnap him from reality for a while. It served as a distraction, a welcome relief from reality, but the difference between that and, say, drinking as a means of distraction was that when you were writing, sometimes without even knowing, you ended up spilling your darkest secrets, your fears and deepest shames through the mouths of your characters. Alcohol only drew so much out of you before you became a rambling mess, hence why it was the safer hobby.

Who knew what deepest secrets – secrets even unbeknownst to himself – would be purged from his soul if he took up the hobby again?

Some things were left forgotten about, better done without, and there was another issue entirely at play here, and that was he'd not been able to stop thinking about Elena since she'd stormed off from their first fiery encounter, and, more importantly, how it would feel to let somebody like her in his life despite every good argument which advised against such an action.

What was it about this one woman who'd already turned his life around without really being a part of it? What was it about her that made him want to encapsulate every fascinating detail about her and write it down so that the world could know such a gem the way he wanted to? What was it about her that made him want to give writing another shot, despite the fact that particular talent, such as his knack for charming women with just a single look, had long since gone into retirement?

He was utterly screwed, that much he'd realised, but he hadn't realised just how screwed he was when every other thought seemed to revolve around Elena Gilbert.

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The thing with bad luck, Elena was starting to realise, was that it always came in threes, the worst of it occurring first to make you believe that nothing more catastrophic could possibly follow.

First, her shop seemed on the verge of being stripped from her possession. There was no more burying her head in the sand when it came to Pages To Go. She needed a strategy to help rope in some new clients and new customers, and she needed to raise the money to send the debt collectors away, even though she knew even if she could find the money to satisfy them this month it didn't mean they wouldn't come back and harass her another month if and when she failed to meet payments then too.

Next, one of the shelves in her store had collapsed due to a loose nail, and because it had been the top shelf in a row of six, it had sent another one crashing to the ground as it had fallen, books raining down and splaying on the ground. As such she'd had to close the shop early while she'd called an old friend who promised to come and help fix the shelves the very next day, so that was something at least.

The last bit of bad luck occurred just as she was gathering up the last of the fallen books, storing them in a spare box until the shelves were fixed and she could put them back on display. Her phone rang and she answered it, grateful to see Bonnie's name flash up on the screen.

"Bonnie," she sighed. "My miracle worker..."

_"Wow. You sound stressed. What's going on?"_

"Everything. I'm sure Caroline's filled you in on what she did to me," Elena fumed. "The girl couldn't keep my crush on Danny Summerfield a secret in senior year, but _this_ she keeps secret! Where's the logic in that?"

_"Breathe, Elena, breathe. Look you know I hate secrets and lies just as much as you do so, and I've already given Caroline my opinion on what she did, but she's Caroline, Elena. What she did was awful, but she knows you well enough that all you would've done if she'd told you earlier was pretend you could handle it until the stress caused you to do something drastic. Did you know she took an extra job to help pay for the shop?"_

Elena blinked.

"When did she do that?"

_"She took it up the very moment she realised the shop was struggling. I think she works at some restaurant somewhere, I don't know the name of it, and I know she hates it because she keeps mouthing off about the customers she has to serve. We've always said, even before we were friends with her, Caroline Forbes was always destined to have her face on the television in some way, not end up stuck in customer service being paid to be polite. Helping you set up and run the shop is not something either of us planned to do with our lives, and to be honest, it wasn't something you ever wanted to do either, Elena. You inherited the shop from your parents and, being who you are, you felt like you couldn't just let it go to a stranger, so you turned it into a book shop, which, you know, is great, but hardly the type of shop to rake in huge profits."_

Elena really didn't like where this was going at all.

"What are you saying, Bonnie?"

There was a huge sigh on the other end of the phone.

_"I wasn't going to say anything, but I found a letter from my mom while I was looking through some old stuff the other day, and it got me thinking about what I wanted out of life. I haven't read it yet, but it made me think about all those years I spent growing up without a mom, and even though that was her choice, I realised I want to do something that helps others find people they care about that have gone missing- the people who don't have a letter to explain why the people they loved disappeared without a trace one day. So I'm going to go to the local PD, and see if they need any volunteers to help track anybody. I know my qualifications don't exactly point to people finder, but I can help make posters, maybe talk to some of the relatives, just do something to help, because I know what it's like not to get the answers you want."_

"But the letter might..."

_"I know what the letter might say, Elena. It might have the answers I want, it might tell me that there was some special reason why she had to go away without a goodbye, but I'm also aware there's a good chance she didn't have a reason, and that this letter won't explain anything. So when I feel ready, I'll read it, but I just – I want that extra time to try and get myself mentally prepared, you know?"_

Elena really felt for Bonnie, and also felt a flash of guilt that she hadn't been more concerned about where she seemed to be mentally these days. She'd just had a lot to deal with, and so she'd prioritised herself over her friends – or at least, prioritised the shop over them.

All the same, a selfish part of her felt stricken at the realisation that Bonnie was detaching herself from Pages To Go, deciding to focus her attention on her true passion which had always been helping people. That meant she truly was on her own, seeing how she'd pushed Caroline away, with admittedly good reason for doing so.

Just when she'd prepared herself to cope with that bombshell, Bonnie threw her another.

_"I know it's not what you're gonna want, but if I get a job or volunteering opportunity at the PD, I'll put some feelers out for Elijah's whereabouts. Somebody must know what happened – "_

"Please don't."

_"But Elena, closure might..."  
_"I know what closure might do for me, Bonnie," Elena snapped. "And I get right now you're in the same situation as me, except you actually have the chance to have answers and I don't. But did you ever consider denial might be better sometimes? Every night I come up with a different story about why he left and never even came to pick up his stuff. I try and look at the positives, that at least I've had no phone call telling me the worst, but it's a big world out there, and it's easy for people to fall through the cracks. He's either dead or he's just in some other country, living some other life without me in it. I'd rather not know the truth to be honest."

_"Okay." _Bonnie sounded concerned, but dropped the matter. _"I'm gonna have to take a beat from Pages To Go for a while, is that okay?"_

_ No, it isn't_, Elena wanted to say. She wanted to say that while Caroline had been an effective – sometimes frightening – businesswoman, Bonnie had been the heart of the entire shop, choosing stock with care, making sure each book looked presentable, often stroking the covers of her favourites, sometimes sneaking peeks of her favourite pages when she thought no one could see her. She wanted to implore her friend to stay because she couldn't stand the idea of being on her own with this, that there was no discernible way for one person to run a shop entirely on their own, but every argument – strong and weak – died on her tongue when this numbing sense of being absolutely on her own took over her.

"I'll survive," she droned, like it was her own personal mantra. "Somehow I always do. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

And she hung up, letting the phone fall through her fingers, shattering on the floor. She soon joined in, drawing her knees to her chest, letting this misery consume her for a moment, rocking back and forth to try and calm her nerves.

She'd been fragile long before Elijah had come on the scene, and now it was like that strong shell she'd been pretending to wear so that people didn't worry over her (even though they clearly did) had now completely disappeared, because she no longer had the strength to hold it in place. Stress burst from every line along her face, aging her at least a couple of years, and she was starting to wonder if Bonnie had a point, that she was only bothering to keep this business running out of loyalty to her parents. She certainly had dreams of her own she'd love to be pursuing, but due to constricted time, she could only dedicate so much of her life into making it happen.

A small tapping noise caught her attention, and she was vaguely surprised to see Rosemarie standing there, and she was aware of how strange a scene it must've looked to her, a pile of books surrounding her, wooden structures which had formerly been shelves splintered at her feet, herself at the centre of the storm, looking an absolute mess.

"We're closed," she called, motioning towards the sign, but evidently she hadn't locked the door because, to her frustration, Rosemarie suddenly opened the door, worming her way in before sitting down beside her.

"You're having a bad day," she noted.

Elena bit back a sarcastic response.

"That obvious huh?" she sighed. She turned her head to appraise her young customer. "You realise I'm closed right now?"

"I know, but my mom used to say the worst thing you can do to a person when they're at their lowest is to leave them alone, no matter how bad they might wanna be," Rosemarie said matter-of-factly. "I think that's kinda stupid, because there are worse things than that you can do to a person, but you look like you need a friend right now, so..."

"Tell me something. Were those girls you were with the other day really your friends? Because the moment you left, they didn't seem remotely concerned in following you." Elena hesitated before adding, "You don't have to lie to impress me, Rose. I don't care who your friends are, only that you have some to talk to about whatever it is that has you looking so lost whenever you walk in." She noticed Rosemarie briefly flinching at her words. "You think I don't notice that?"

"My dad doesn't. Why should anyone else?"

"So those girls weren't your friends?"

"No, they weren't," Rosemarie admitted, ducking her head. "I just – I find it hard... you know...fitting in. Me and my dad move a lot, and this is the longest amount of time we've been stuck in one place since my mum was around." She drew her knees to her chest, mirroring Elena's pose. "You know those girls you kinda wanna be friends with, but don't dare approach?"

"Uh-huh."

"Those girls were the ones I wanted to be friends with, so I've kinda been waiting for my moment to talk to them. And when I saw them come in here, I thought I could, you know, do that because it looked like they loved reading, and I love reading, so..."  
"So what was the problem?"

"I heard them call me a loser before we even reached the shop. They were talking about me knowing full well I was following them. And they were laughing like they were the coolest people in the world." Rosemarie didn't look remotely hurt as she recanted her story, but there was a glaze to her eyes which suggested she'd put up some sort of barrier to stop people seeing how hurt she really was by it. "I just – I don't get why people try to be cool. You hurt a lot more people, including yourself, by pretending to be something you're not."

Elena absorbed this in silence, wondering if the reason Rosemarie found such solace in books was because they were the only things she could really reach out to. The small snippets of information she revealed about her father told her she was often left alone, and that she found it hard to make friends because of it, but she'd never said where she originated from, although the faint twinges of an unfamiliar accent in some of the words she came out with told her she probably hadn't been born in America – the way she said 'mom' as 'mum', was a clear example of this, and if Elena had to guess, she would've said she originally came from England somewhere, maybe somewhere south where the accents were softer, less aggressive (Elijah had been from England himself and he'd assured her the range of accents and dialects went beyond the posh, tea-drinking image most American's had of the English).

"I miss my best friend, Trevor, who we had to leave when we first moved away," Rosemarie spoke, nostalgia coating her tone, her eyes filling with tears, and it struck Elena this was the first time she'd probably ever spoken to anyone about this before. "We used to live in St. Austell in England, and there was this amazing field we ran around when we were little, where the grass was just this really vivid green." She gave a sharp laugh. "I know grass is green anyway but it was like _green _green, and so soft..." She glanced over at Elena, who was taking this all in with quiet contemplation. "I'm homesick a lot, and it doesn't matter where we move to, I know that feeling isn't going to go away, but when I come in here, it's like I've found a place that I sort of belong. It sounds stupid."

"No," Elena said softly. "No it doesn't. I've gotta ask though – why are you saying all of this to me?"

"Because you're the nicest person I've met in this city so far," Rosemarie stated plainly. "And because... I don't have anyone else to turn to."

Rosemarie didn't cry, nor did she give an emotional bellow after she'd concluded her speech, but the look on her face caused a metaphorical tendril to wrap itself tightly around Elena's heart, because she could relate to that look so well.

It was the look of someone who on the outside looked as if they had it had it together, but in reality was only just managing to hold it together, the look of someone who had been thrown into difficult situation after difficult situation forcing them to adapt, change and move on without really processing anything in between.

Oh, yes, she could definitely relate, but instead of feeding Rosemarie some clichéd advice about how it would all get better, that she wouldn't be this lost and alone forever, she let her stay until eventually the silence became stifling for them both and she ended up rising fluently to her feet and walking out of the door, leaving Elena staring aimlessly ahead, wondering if the fact she was alone, in a bookshop that would soon be stripped from her possession, with broken shelves surrounding her, was some great metaphor for where she was in life.

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Elena decided to take a walk before heading directly home. She'd stayed in the confinements of her shop longer than was perhaps necessary, tidying up, gazing through various forms with blank eyes, not really registering anything, her mind a hazy swarm of disorganised thoughts and memories tinged with a sepia coloured sheen. By the time she'd left, the faintest shade of darkness had already begun to coat the sky, a faint trail of stars making the briefest of appearances before being dwarfed by the city lights as everywhere around her switched to night mode.

She walked and walked, finding it wasn't really helping to exorcise her personal demons so much as allowing them to dart across her mind, consuming her attention. She had no idea where she'd ended up until she found herself standing outside Matt's bar, the worn out sign just managing to reveal the barely legible words 'Donovan's Den'. A part of her yearned to go inside, neck back an alcoholic beverage, and forget the fact her life was going absolutely nowhere as of this moment, but she had a lot to process, and what was binge drinking even going to achieve anyway except one moment of blissful ignorance, followed by a morning of pain and intense regret?

Her hesitation didn't go unnoticed however. Emerging from nowhere, Damon approached her, his unkempt hair still a temptation for her to just run up to him and run her fingers through it, although that desire came from such a shallow place, she immediately stifled it. She'd not allowed herself to be this drawn to an individual because the biggest heartbreaks came from falling too hard and not being prepared enough to deal with the repercussions of that.

"Elena," he greeted, his voice rough, distorted by an unrecognisable emotion. "Didn't think I'd run into you here."

"Likewise." She stopped, giving him a once over. "Shouldn't you be inside, consuming everything that is even vaguely alcohol?"

"I would, but this girl, well she kind of got me thinking, and as a result I'm standing outside my bar resisting the urge to go in," he admitted, running a nervous hand through his hair.

She couldn't stop the stupid smile which dawned on her face at that moment.

"Uh-huh, right... And this girl would be...?"

"The most stubborn girl I've ever met. Someone who has the ability to kick a man while he's down, and at the same time extend him a hand of friendship he probably doesn't deserve," he answered, grinning widely. "She said something the other night which kind of...stuck. And now I can't get her stupid advice out of my head."

"I like the sound of her. What advice did she give?"

"She told me binge drinking my troubles away wasn't going to help, and since then every time I've reached for a bottle, I wonder what it is I'm exactly looking for at the bottom of it. And by the time I've listed in my head all the ways I'm trying to fix this hurt that's inside of me, I'm too depressed to even drink. How pathetic is that?"

"It's not pathetic, it's impressive that she's managed to actually get you to heed some practical advice," Elena said, laughing softly. "You must like this girl for her advice to have actually helped."

"She's attractive, don't get me wrong, but I could fill a book that would encompass all the reasons I'm wrong for her. And I may be rocking the boat here, but I kind of think she's hurting too. I don't know what from, or even who might've been responsible for bringing that kind of pain to her life, but I do know that what happens in every book, movie, and television show to girls like her is that she meets a guy she's convinced she can change, and when that doesn't happen, he breaks her heart, and she's left hurting even more."

"You're forgetting about those movies, books, and television shows that have happy endings." _Why was she pursuing this conversation, when they were talking about themselves like they were fictional characters and not real people walking a very fine line here? _"You know, those stories about a girl and a guy who dance around their attraction to one another, where the girl knows the guy is a complete ass but still sees something redeemable in his – forgive me for being cliché and a little nauseating here – _soul _and they let one another in despite the hurt they've both endured? Those are the epic stories everyone wants to live out."

"And very few actually do," he remarked wryly, his face impassive. He looked away from her, hesitating for the briefest of moments before saying, "You know, I'm not gonna lie and say I wanted to ask you out the moment I met you, because I'm a wreck, and I'll continue to be a wreck until either my head gives out...or my heart. But I'm also not gonna lie and say I'm not attracted to you...that what we could build together could be incredible. All I keep thinking about is how the first time we met, I closed the door on your face, presuming the very worst about you based on a minute's worth of conversation, and I have to question your judgement that despite all that, you still see something in me that keeps you talking to me."

She hung on his every word, wondering where the hell he was going with this. They were still strangers, but they shared a hurt that affected everything they said or did, a betrayal which had torn them up to the point where trust was something they no longer handed out; people had to earn it, and even when they gave it out, it came with terms and conditions.

How could she be attracted, and subsequently feel so connected, to a man who'd let himself become so cold that arrogance became the coat he wore every day, self-loathing the aftershave which coated his skin, and hopelessness the air he breathed?

Elena knew the answer.

It was because she was the same as him, depending on herself, and nothing else, to survive, to protect her heart from succumbing to that deep hurt that time can only heal, never fully erase from memory. She was the same as him, just perhaps less obvious in displaying her broken heart for the entire world to see.

"Damon – " she began, hating the fact every nerve in her body screamed at her to go with this intense feeling building up inside her, to grab him, kiss him, assure him that one moment of utter bliss couldn't kill them both, even if they walked away afterwards and never spoke again, but her head knew – so much more than her heart – that one kiss could change everything, and she wasn't prepared to risk getting hurt again just because of one moment of weakness.

"You won't see me again," he said, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's making women fall out of love with me. They get drawn in and then...poof...they're in the arms of someone else." He gave her a grim smile. "The best love stories are the ones that never happen, you know, the ones you build up inside your own mind, the ones built on nothing more than faith and belief. Real love stories are grittier, and so not worth the attempt to imitate them on the big screen." He leaned in, and she froze, unsure where he was going with this yet absolutely unable to move, his lips pressed gently against the top of her head, the gesture so intimate for someone she still barely knew, yet it was like he was leaving an imprint of his soul onto her. "Bye, Elena." Then, in her ear, he quoted huskily, "_I leave you now without excuse, without pretense just with the knowledge that you'll get everything you want from life because you're a shooting star across an endless sky, with still a hell of a journey before you, and I'm a planet moving at too slow a speed to make any real progress. We may meet but once, twice, in a lifetime, but every encounter will always leave a blazing trail across my heart_."

And with that, with his own words left hovering around her, he was gone, leaving her feeling confused, lost, bewildered and hurt all at once, and she couldn't for the life of her understand why.

* * *

A/N: You can thank fanfiction writer Kimbuhlay and her friend Nadia for this update, because I just had no idea people loved my story so much, and I was stuck trying to figure out the ending to this chapter. Reviews only give so much of an insight into how much you appreciate my writing, so big thanks to them. Check out the stories of Kimbuhlay by the way, they are amazing, the epitome of what good writing and good storytelling should be. This chapter was angsty, and there will be more angst on the way, but I assure this goodbye between Damon and Elena isn't the last time they'll see each other (otherwise, hello, this story would be over, and there's so much more to tell lol). Hope you enjoyed, and I will try and update quicker than I have done before.


	12. Progress

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 12

Progress

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_It hadn't been her idea to come here at all. The shop was still in its early days, and there were still loose ends to tie up regarding paperwork and the finishing touches to the displays, but still Elena had allowed Caroline to drag her to this business convention, where new and flourishing businesses gathered to trade ideas, advertise their companies, give lectures to introduce what it was they were selling etc. How her friend knew about all these events, Elena would never know, but the point was they had to attract customers now, and although the venue was in their very own city, not in some upscale place like Los Angeles – even a miracle worker like Caroline was unable to pull the strings to get them to somewhere of that standing – Caroline was determined that they would come away here with some new clients under their belt._

_ The building was newly built, located just outside the city so that there was room for parking and a nice enough area that it gave boring business owners a topic to break the ice. In her mind, Elena made note of everything, from the bright blue carpets which stretched down narrow corridors, to the posh glass ceiling which allowed a flood of light to filter in, giving the venue almost a hotel feel to it. It was strictly for conferences and conventions though, Caroline had assured her, with rooms for hire for business meetings and such. _

_ The actual room where small local businesses were situated was a large room, with a navy blue carpet and wide windows which almost engulfed the walls they were built into. Tables and chairs scattered the room, with people already in small clusters talking business and exchanging cards. Caroline had left her earlier to set up, and Bonnie had promised to make an appearance, although Elena had heard she was helping her grandmother move into a bungalow because her hip was making simple manoeuvres, such as climbing stairs, tricky. As Elena wandered in, her eyes easily picking out the vivid blonde hair of her best friend, she felt her stomach drop as she realised she had to be easily the most inexperienced person in the confinements of this very room, and the thought made her sick. _

_ How in the name of all that was good and pure had she ever believed she could run a business, when she could only just grasp the term 'profit margins' and not much else? _

_ This troubling thought consumed her attention to the point where she didn't realise where she was going until she stumbled into someone, the action jolting her back into action. She peered up at the person she'd crashed into, the first striking thing she noticed being his hairstyle, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the fringe which partially hid one of his eyes. He must've been about twenty nine in terms of years, although his face looked youthful enough that he could've been younger – estimation was not her strong point, this she was coming to realise – and he was suited up, his hands outstretched, as if he was automatically trying to prevent her from ruining said suit._

_ "I'm so sorry," she immediately gabbled, looking mortified. "I wasn't – "_

_ "- Paying attention?" What a warm smile he possessed. "I hardly blame you for that. In the confinements of such a dreary event, I confess my own mind has wandered several times." His eyes flooded with more warmth. "My name is Elijah – Elijah Mikaelson."_

_ "Elena." She'd lost the power of speech. "Elena Gilbert."_

_ "Elena..." God she loved the way he said her name, treating every syllable like it was its own letter. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Elena. May I ask what a lovely girl like you is doing cooped up here with a bunch of boring men in suits."_

_ "I have my own business. My good friend Caroline suggested coming here to see if we could, I dunno, promote it. And yourself?" _

_ "Well, I'm one of those boring men in suits I'm afraid," he said apologetically, a teasing lilt to his smile. "But I'm here to support my sister, Rebekah. She's here to showcase her prom dress business."_

_ "What's the name of it?"_

_ Elijah visibly cringed._

_ "It's really bad. My sister thinks of these terrible puns and people somehow are endeared by them."_

_ Elena laughed._

_ "Come on, is it really that bad?"_

_ "Would _you_ go into a shop entitled 'Dress to Prompress?"_

_ She smiled, cringing just a little at the sound of the name._

_ "Maybe not. Is it just dresses for prom she sells?"_

_ "It has a definite prom theme to it, let's just leave it at that. Dresses, purses, accessories, corsages... you name a prom item, and she has it. She's rather...infatuated with the notion of prom given the fact she never went to one herself."_

_ "How come?"_

_ "Our parents didn't exactly see the rationale behind prom, so they forbade her to go, and I guess you could say this was her way of getting some sort of revenge. When they passed away, she spent her share of our inheritance on a small building right in the centre of the city, dedicating it to make other girls' dreams of prom come true."_

_ "I spent my own prom night in bed sick, so I can relate," Elena replied with a sympathetic smile._

_ An impatient Caroline suddenly flashed in front of her, scowling at her._

_ "Elena Gilbert, you have no understanding of the concept of a partnership. You've left me there...Oh, Elijah! I see you two have already met...fantastic!"_

_ "You know each other?" Elena asked, looking from Elijah to Caroline._

_ "In a manner of speaking," Elijah replied, looking amused by Caroline's behaviour. "We met a year or so ago, before I made this city my permanent residence."_

_ "He was the cute guy I told you about that day I was doing my work experience."_

_ "Not the guy you spilled hot coffee all over..."_

_ Caroline cringed at the memory._

_ "Sadly, yes. And he was very understanding about it," she said, looking gratefully at Elijah, who inclined his head briefly, his eyes still glued to Elena for some bizarre reason. "We got to talking, and he mentioned he was single, but at the time he was only here on work business... What exactly is your job by the way?" she frowned, as if realising this was a fundamental gap in her knowledge she needed to fill. "Anyway," she ploughed on, not even giving him a chance to answer, "We kept in touch because I told him if he needed anyone to take him around the city, I had that role covered, and then one day he messages out of the blue saying he's in town for a business convention, and if I'm still up for playing tour guide he would like to take me up on my offer, and of course I ask him what a business convention was exactly, and he tells me..."_

_ "I think I can fill in the blanks from here, Caroline," Elena interrupted, sensing there was no end in sight to this particular story. _

_ Elijah smiled at her comment, his eyes alight with amusement._

_ "Well, the point is this whole thing," Caroline said, gesturing around her, "was down to Elijah. I wouldn't have heard about it if it wasn't for him, so the first customers we get are all thanks to you." She jabbed him in the chest, beaming in a way that had him looking wary. "This is the part where you go 'you're welcome, Caroline, and please go away so I can chat up this incredibly sexy woman you call your best friend'."_

_ "Caroline!" Elena hissed, looking mortified._

_ Elijah, on the other hand, simply chuckled._

_ "You're welcome, Caroline," he said, looking meaningfully at her, "now please go and mind your stall while I escort this lovely lady around so I can converse with her some more."_

_ "Converse some more?" Caroline snorted. "Is that what you kids call it these days?" In response to Elena's glare, she held up her hands. "Sorry. I'll back off now. I'll go see if our stall has roused any interest. Oh and there's a really interesting talk later that revolves around good marketing strategies that we should probably catch."_

_ "Interesting?" Elena raised a lone eyebrow, dubious. "You mean you caught a glimpse of the lecturer, and he just happens to be hot?"_

_ Caroline laughed._

_ "You know me so well," she sung, almost skipping away, giving everyone a bright smile along the way._

_ "I do apologise for her," Elena said, turning back to Elijah. "She can be...intense."_

_ "My brothers are worse, I assure you," he responded wryly. "But she has a strong personality, which will serve you both well in regards to your business endeavour so you have to commend her for that." He extended an arm. "Now, to a little business of our own..."_

_ And with an uncharacteristic giggle, she'd slipped her arm through his, allowing him to steer them both around all the other small businesses hoping, like her, to make it in the city._

Nursing a cup of coffee between her hands, Elena waited for Caroline to arrive after (reluctantly) agreeing to see her. She was still angry, she wasn't going to lie about it, but Bonnie and Matt were right – this was _Caroline, _who without really knowing so had (sort of) introduced her to the man who would change her entire world, promptly before leaving it. Caroline was semi-responsible for the person she was today, and Elena was starting to realise holding back every issue which threatened to break her wasn't healthy.

She couldn't help reflecting on that day, how Elijah had been so charming, actually taking a genuine interest in everything she said, and by the end, he'd taken a card advertising her small business, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and handed her one in return...one which had his phone number on it. She'd been hooked from that moment on.

There were times when she could've drowned in the agony of not knowing why he'd left, and there was no reason to think he'd done it out of choice except for this feeling in her heart which told her for whatever reason, he'd found the strength to walk out of the door and out of her life, never looking back for one moment. When Damon had bid her goodbye last night, she'd felt the ghost of those emotions return for the briefest of moments, and it had hurt more than she'd cared to admit. She'd found herself pouring out all these emotions to the photos of her parents, admitting she hadn't moved on at all and if she even tried to have some big cathartic moment, it would be like admitting he was really gone, so her mental survival had hinged upon denial, which wasn't healthy, sure, but it had kept her focused on work, and that was what she had to keep doing.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, a pair of heels clapping their way over to her table, the tentative expression of Caroline dawning in front of her before she slowly sat down, a stack of papers in her arms.

"Hi," she said sheepishly, her voice laced with mingled concern and caution, as if afraid Elena was going to explode with anger just by seeing her here.

Elena sighed, wishing she'd handled the entire situation better, but it was just a headache trying to keep track of her emotions these days, and which were valid ones to feel and which weren't.

"Hi," she responded, giving Caroline the best smile she could, given the fact her head was trapped between the past and present, trying to remember the last time she'd been in a good, steady place emotionally.

"I'm so sorry..." Caroline began, but Elena held up her hand, not in the mood to listen to Caroline babble a thousand word apology when she already knew her best friend was sorry, and that was all she needed to know.

"Look, let's forget about what's been done," she suggested, with some effort because it still pained her to think about how easily Caroline had lied to her, "and try and work out what needs to be done. You said you had some ideas for the shop?"

The smile on Caroline's face easily made Elena's lousy day turn that little bit brighter, because she knew one of her friend's biggest insecurities lay in her exact role in the dynamic the two of them and Bonnie had created. She knew Bonnie and Elena had been friends much longer, so their bond was more steadfast, much more likely to endure down the line, whereas since she'd once been the atypical mean girl, outwardly scorning them before eventually coming to realise how much she needed them in her life, meant she was constantly questioning whether or not she really belonged, and when Elena had told her to not bother showing up at Pages To Go, it had sort of brought about this sense of worthlessness and uselessness she'd done well to stifle over the years.

Elena knew all this, and it was that which helped her to realise Caroline made such an effort to fix things because a part of her was trying to fix herself in the process, and that broke her heart a little because she was already a perfect version of who she was going to end up being in the distant future: a kind, caring, if slightly bossy woman with spirit and this desperate need to please people.

"Yes," Caroline began, showing her the first page (of many) which laid out a step-by-step guide on how to approach their struggles. "I have some ideas of how to solve this problem, and one of them ties in nicely with my preparation work for the job as a presenter I'm definitely going to get one day." She laughed, as if it was a sure thing, and Elena smiled, knowing full well Caroline Forbes was going to reach her goal or die trying; her ambition was a bright flame she wished would ignite her own. "We need to rally for people's support to save our shop. You know those little bits on the news that come after all the headlines and stuff? The fundraising bits and charity awareness campaign reports?" Not waiting for Elena to answer, she plunged ahead, "so I'm thinking if I try and get a reporter or something to film a segment on it, making sure to emphasise the importance of keeping independent shops alive and not in the jaws of bigger businesses who, hello, could stand to be taken down a peg or two, then we should hopefully attract a swarm of new customers. In the meantime, I've asked to do overtime at work, and I know my mom is gonna encourage as many people as possible back home to come and take a trip up to help."

"Caroline... how..." Elena was speechless. "How does someone like you even keep the fact we're in debt a secret when you've barely stopped talking since you came in, coming up with, may I add, some ideas I would never have thought of in a million years?"

"I may have a perky little ass that won't quit," Caroline joked with a flirty wink, "but I'm not perfect. I choose to keep the wrong things secret, and blab the right things out to anyone with a set of ears."

"I'll say," Elena replied wryly, her mind elsewhere as she stirred her coffee, thinking about, dare she even admit to herself, Damon, and his stupid words which never ceased to leave her mind.

He'd chosen the part of _At Third Glance _which had physically assaulted her emotions, the part where the goodbyes had been exchanged, and when the main protagonist had walked away feeling both lightened and disheartened by the exchange. Damon had leant in, his lips so close to her ear she could almost _feel _them hovering by her skin, and, with just a handful of words, proceeded to rob her of speech, while simultaneously trying to work out how him telling her she wouldn't see him anymore had the equivalent effect of someone taking a bat and swinging it at her head so she saw stars, not to mention being left disorientated and slightly nauseous.

"Elena Gilbert, are you even listening?" Caroline's voice suddenly filled her ears. "Where is your head at? And I thought I had the attention span of a goldfish!"

Elena blinked.

"Sorry, I was – I don't know where I was," she said slowly, but that was a lie.

Caroline saw right through it, as she should've suspected.

"Elena Gilbert, are you thinking about a _guy_? OH MY GOD! It's that guy who came in the other day isn't it? The one who was all charm and sexiness wrapped up in a package Mama would like to tear open and just – "

"Caroline... _Tyler?_"

"Who?" Caroline blinked, her eyes suitably glazed over before she shook her head, snapping herself back into the present. "Oh. God. Sorry. Mind was in the gutter." She flushed. "So sorry."

"Don't be," Elena said, smiling. "How's he doing with the Twilight books anyway? Has he caved yet?"

"He got five pages into it, said – and I quote – 'I can't handle this shit', and just conceded defeat." Caroline giggled. "I got quite cross that he didn't at least get to the part with Jacob, so I decided as punishment that he could dress up in his stupid wolf costume _but _he has to answer to the name Jacob all night."

Elena burst out laughing.

"Oh I imagine that condition went down a treat."

"I sat through _Family Guy _with him and Matt, so he should have to make concessions for me," Caroline said smugly, folding her arms. "Now... let's not get distracted. Let's talk about you and Mr Blue Eyes."

"What an original nickname, Caroline," Elena sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's not something I can talk about. I don't even know if there's even anything to tell."

"Hey, the fact there's even a guy on the table you're all het up about is definitely a topic for discussion," Caroline exclaimed. "So let's put business aside for one second and talk dirty." She winked again. "You know I love me some gossip."

"Yeah, and you can't keep it secret to save your life," Elena bemoaned, before caving in and telling her everything.

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Bonnie was aware she'd distanced herself from her friends recently, and she felt absolutely terrible about it, but she was stuck between two really emotional places, one which offered a promise of much needed answers, and another which threatened sheer disappointment, and until she read that infernal letter, she would be forever stuck there.

Lurking outside the local police department, she wrung her hands together, suddenly nervous. She had no idea if there was even going to be an opportunity here for her to help, but she had to take the risk all the same. She'd tied her hair back to give an air of professionalism, but her hands had been playing with the band which tied it up so much, it had frayed and snapped, leaving her dark hair to cascade around her, and it had felt like a weird omen, which hadn't made her feel any better about this mission she was on.

Taking deep breaths, she walked up the steps and found herself in the foyer, where numerous people in police uniform walked about, some with coffees in their hands – but no donuts, so that shot that particular stereotype to hell – and some looking absolutely dead on their feet, so she headed towards the reception only to be cut off by a dark skinned man in his mid to late twenties, who had the warmest eyes she'd ever seen.

"May I help you?" he asked, smiling in a way which had her immediately reciprocating the motion. "The front desk is a bit manic right now, so if there's anything I can do to help..."

"Actually, there is," she said, hesitating before plunging ahead with her question. "I'm not asking for a job or anything, because I know just walking in here and asking for one isn't how this usually works, but are there any opportunities to help, you know, find missing people? Any volunteering positions? I just – I really wanna help. I know it sounds odd, but..." she trailed off, thrown by the way he seemed to be hanging on her every word.

He smiled warmly at her before proceeding to answer her question.

"We get a lot of people here asking the same question. Not enough, mind you, but a fair amount that I'm starting to wonder if we should post these up around town." He went over to a billboard located on the wall opposite where they'd congregated, and picked up a poster from it before handing it to her. "This group was set up sometime last year, after a police officer went missing and the community around this particular area rallied around to try and help the officer's family."

Bonnie read the poster with interest.

It outlined the group's intentions to meet once a week to set up search parties if the missing person had gone missing recently, as well as to continue making posters and fliers to post around every area possible to make sure as much attention was drawn to them, because somebody out there had to know something.

"Wow it sounds like an amazing system, but aren't they kind of doing your job?" she asked, looking up at the police officer whose brow was furrowed, as if he was contemplating something serious.

"With all we have to do in this city, we're grateful for the extra support," he supplied helpfully. "But of course we advise them to inform us if they have any leads we can follow up on, and there's only so much we allow them to do because they're not trained to handle certain situations." He extended a hand. "I'm Luka by the way – Luka Martin."

"Bonnie Bennett." She smiled. "Thank you so much for talking to me."

"No problem. So who disappeared from your life to inspire this little quest?"

Her smile vanished.

"How did you - ?"

"It's not true for all cases, but most people want to help others find their missing loved ones because they know what it's like firsthand, and they think by helping others get closure, they'll get closure themselves," Luka replied offhandedly. "It never really happens, but I'm not gonna put people down for why they're trying to help when it's remarkable how in a city of thousands, you only get about a handful willing to even give you the time of day, let alone anything else."

Bonnie felt a prickle of something – _surprise, maybe? – _that momentarily stopped her from saying anything back. Living in the city as long as she had, it was a surprise to realise how much truth there was in Luka's words. People moved to cities for fresh starts, so that they could find themselves, but the reality was it was easier to do that in a city because nobody cared enough to find out who you were for you. They just coldly let you navigate your own way in a brutal environment, and that's what she missed about Mystic Falls. Sure, everyone knew everybody else's business, but it was part of the charm. It meant your doctor knew your family history, so you were always in good hands, and your local librarian knew which books to recommend you because you were in there so much, and above all else, you were a part of the community.

Maybe that's what she missed most about her friends, remembering the days when nothing was held back, when they were all about total honesty and just living in the moment, surrounded by people who knew everything about them, who'd watched them grow up...there was none of that here.

Truthfully, Bonnie had been looking for something here in the city that just didn't exist back home. Wasn't that the point of moving anywhere? To find something, be it peace, acceptance etc, that just couldn't be found where you were right at that moment? Being in that small majority of people willing to help out complete strangers because they shared a mutual story – with certain details different, of course – might just be enough to keep her in the city, because truthfully she'd been toying with the idea of moving back home, what with worrying about her grandmother's health and missing her dad even though he took business trips in and out of the country, so hadn't really been around that much while growing up.

This, however, could be the break she needed to pull herself out of her semi-impassive mood she seemed to be in and out of recently, not that she'd dare tell Caroline and Elena this because they – and by _they, _she meant Caroline – would only try and convince her to have multiple girls nights out like that was what missing from her life.

She lifted up her head to ask more questions, but Luka was gone, leaving her with the poster in between her hands, her mind abuzz with all the information she'd been given. This was what she really wanted to do, but the question was did this do anything in the way of giving her courage to read that letter, or was this just a means of distraction? If it was the latter, she would be better off not undertaking this mission at all if it came from a place of selfishness, but if even a tiny part of her craved to help because she had a letter whereas others had no such items to provide them with the answers they sought, then that was a start.

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His fingers clenched around the pen as he began filling out various requisition forms to pass along to his brother. The blank notepad, which was supposed to be used for work related stuff – although he'd seen many co-workers defiling theirs with somewhat offensive imagery – taunted him, although the sight of it had never filled him with anything other than a vague sense of nostalgia for the days when he could fill one up with just plotlines and character back-stories.

So why now? Why did the urge to write just grip him at this precise moment? It was a particularly boring day, even by Stefan's company's standards, but that didn't explain why he wanted to just pour out his frustrations through fiction, applying different rules to his own situation to change the outcome so that, for a brief moment, he could feel like life didn't have to go a certain way, that, like fiction, things always had a way of turning out for the best, even when everything else seemed decided.

It was all Elena's fault, he decided. With her cascading locks and bewitching smile, she was a tantalising distraction his mind did not need right now. Every so often, he'd relive the moment his lips hovered near her ear, her scent almost staggering in its intensity, and the urge to kiss her had just been so bewildering, so out of character, it had been, strangely enough, the exact push he'd needed to walk out of her life. He just didn't need to get himself involved with her in that way. Before you knew it, flirty little glances turned into hot blooded kisses, which evolved into passionate encounters, which slowly but surely turned into a fully fledged relationship that would inevitably end, leaving him right back where he'd started.

It was better that he walked out before he let his heart rule his head again.

But his own words buzzed around his mind, taunting him. He kept thinking about that one unfinished book he'd scrapped right around the time he'd left Katherine, wondering if knowing what he knew now as opposed to what he had known then would hinder or help him actually finish it. The premise had been a sort of sequel to 1864, in the sense it focused on a man who was left bitter after a relationship – so not exactly an unbelievable premise – trying to pick up the pieces of a life which had been consumed by such passion to the point where the burning flames of it all had reduced it to mere ashes. In his head at the time, he'd constructed several characters the main protagonist would meet who'd involuntarily offer him different insights into how life's tragedies could be turned around in favour of the heartbroken, but since at the time he'd been in the throes of such horrendous grief and heartbreak, it was fair to say that project soon made its way into a dark cupboard, never to be seen again.

Now... well, his fingers were itching to pen it, just for the hell of it, to see if he could still summon up words good enough for his one and only avid reader to memorise. Because that's what Elena would do. She would buy every stupid book he'd written and memorise every word so that he'd run out of reasons to stay out of her life. She wasn't perfect by any means, but she was so far out of his league, just the idea of being with her hurt. If Damon wanted something, he usually got it, but there was always a price. He got his way when he'd wriggled his way out of being actively involved in the family business, yet somehow ended up working for it all the same when his bid for freedom had landed him a string of failures in his personal life.

While going through this personal crisis, it took Damon about ten minutes to realise during his mental meltdown, without him even realising, he'd taken a pen and notepad and written down a whole paragraph, and his jaw slackened with surprise.

The content matter of the aforementioned paragraph didn't matter, but the fact that even while his head and heart bickered furiously about the consequences of letting his passion override everything else his hand had just reached for the pen and jotted down a string of sentences which had nothing to do with work whatsoever, well, it was nothing short of a miracle.

His head quickly won the argument, however, causing a dark scowl to twist his features, and with an unnecessary growl, he scrunched up the paper he'd been writing on, hurling it in a near perfect aim in the direction of the nearest bin. It missed, but he was too aggravated to pick it up, instead electing to turn back to his work, hating himself but understanding that this was all a form of self-preservation, to keep himself and his heart away from all that pain that came from letting something you loved take over your life.

Had he looked up for just a moment, he would've noticed Stefan walking in, glancing at the ball of paper on the floor by the bin, his hand curling around it before picking it up and glancing at the contents, his eyes landing on his brother, a deeply contemplative expression touching his features, before he tucked the paper into his pocket, spun on his heel and walked out of the room.

* * *

A/n: It's a filler chapter, folks, sorry about that! All stories have to have 'em though, otherwise it would just be action, action, action, with none of that slow paced drama in between to keep things steady. But this was as good a place as any to sort of start the Elena/Elijah flashbacks, plus I wanted to fit in the Caroline/Elena moment I couldn't fit in last chapter, and the first sign of Damon's personal growth since meeting Elena was also a critical moment I wanted to describe, plus I wanted to pan in on what Bonnie was up to because hers and Caroline's separate stories are important to the main plot. But more on that later. Thank you all for reviewing! Appreciate each and every one I get


	13. Moving On Starts With Letting Go

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 13

Moving On Starts With Letting Go

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Thanks to Lexie Branson's visit, Pages To Go had never been busier. For an author who'd been around a fair while, having written books which had guided Bonnie, Caroline and Elena through the darkest moments of their teenage years, she still looked so youthful, a vibrant energy radiating from her skin which was utterly infectious. She possessed the most vibrant blonde hair imaginable, which as of today was plaited down one side, making her appear even younger.

"It's not fair," Caroline hissed to an amused Elena. "Nobody should look that good at thirty five. According to my mother, that's the age when everything goes downhill, and your dreams start crumbling around you, and you realise you have nothing but old age and grandchildren to look forward to, that is even assuming you have _children_ to begin with..."

"Ssh," Elena hissed, but she still fought back laughter, because to Caroline the worst thing in the entire world was growing old. She frequently checked herself out for signs of wrinkles, and Elena and Bonnie held the theory that the only reason she hated the idea of aging was because it was the one aspect of her life she had no control over.

Lexie was reading an extract from her book, not her newest one because there were children here and the book had dark themes to say the least, and it gave Bonnie, Caroline and Elena such a thrill that the book she'd elected to read from was the first of the Jaz Willoughby series, 'Night Capers, which they still remembered the plot of quite vividly.

Things between the girls were fairly tense, what with Bonnie having made the decision to step away from Pages To Go for a while, but having decided she couldn't miss this event, she'd made sure to make an appearance, relieved that Caroline and Elena had worked out their differences to try and come up with a long term plan for the shop. They'd always done everything together, from the very last year of high school, and even afterwards they'd made sure they'd all ended up at the same college, Bonnie and Elena sharing a room with Caroline only right down the hall.

Now, they all seemed to be going down separate paths, and Elena wasn't sure she liked the change.

After the reading, Lexie completed some signings, smiling broadly all the way through right until the shop was closed, and then she exhaled, looking exhausted.

"Never be an author," she advised the three girls, chuckling dryly. "You write the damn book, and then, if it's successful, you have to go to all these signings and shit, writing your name over and over until your fingers bleed." She glanced at her fingernails, as if to inspect the damage done. "I love it, don't get me wrong, but I almost pray for something I write to be rejected. Success is exhausting."

"Yeah, but isn't it also rewarding?" Caroline chipped in, incredulous at her blasé attitude about the entire process.

"Honey, I consider the real reward actually getting the stories out of my head and onto paper," Lexie chuckled. "Anything else after that is just a bonus."

"Thank you so much for coming," Bonnie said sincerely, always the one to make sure gratitude was given where it was needed. "We appreciate it. We've," she gave a sly glance in the direction of her two best friends, "kind of been fans of yours forever, if you don't mind us gushing."

Lexie released her plait, shaking her golden waves out of their constraints, smiling widely.

"Hands down, I swear this is the best bookshop I've done a signing in," she informed them. "You guys are humble, and so sweet, and don't think I don't get how hard you guys have to work competing with all those other businesses out there. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and, forgive me for sounding ancient here, I remember a time when a shop was all about customer service and customer satisfaction. Now it's about driving up sales as much as possible, regardless of the means of doing so."

"Well, too bad the shop isn't gonna be around for much longer. We're just not making enough money to keep up with payments," Elena remarked gloomily. "I've been looking at profit intakes today alone, and even with the intake of ticket sales to see you, it's not made enough to make a difference."

"Honey, you're going to have to do more than just invite authors to do these sort of signing sessions to make payments," Lexie advised, her brow furrowed. "I used to own a shop of my own, a beautiful bookshop by the name of Branson Books – I know, _so _original, incorporating my surname into the title of shop – and it just went under in a year. I couldn't compete with not just major book stores, but just every other shop in general." She gave Elena a searching look, as if sensing this wasn't the burning issue Elena had to cope with. "Have you guys considered moving anywhere else? You know, seeking out cheaper property?"

Caroline and Elena exchanged a surprised glance.

No, they'd not thought of that option before.

"It's a thought," Elena admitted. "But this property has sentimental value..."

"Sentimental value ain't gonna pay the rent, sweetie," Lexie cut across her. "I inherited my shop from my boyfriend, Lee, who passed away a year prior, and I felt like I needed to honour his memory in some way, but, truth be told, I was happier writing books than I was selling them. Sometimes you do what you think the people you love would want you to do, and that holds you back from living your own dreams."

Bonnie and Caroline nodded, staring meaningfully at Elena, who shrugged, seeing the wisdom in Lexie's words but failing to apply it to her own situation. It was all she had left of her parents, given the fact she and Jeremy had made the painful decision a year or so after their deaths to donate some of their items – the ones with historical value – to the Mystic Falls Founder's Archives – while selling the rest in a desperate bid to gain closure, deciding against owning keepsakes, aside from photographs. In a way, it had worked; the less you had to remind you of what you'd lost, the easier it was to move on.

"Anyway, I'm just gonna wait for my ride and go," Lexie said, clearing her throat, her piercing eyes lingering on Elena's for a brief moment before moving away. "You guys mind if I linger here for a bit?" She cast a loving gaze around the place. "Been a while since I've been in a book shop like this. All the ones I do signings for are big places with little to no character, so I can't help but be charmed by places like this."

As Lexie surveyed the shop with an air of genuine interest, Elena, Bonnie and Caroline shared a moment of barely repressed glee at their favourite author being in the same room as them. It brought back memories of teenage years, of reading during the summer out in the sun, of being united by this one passion that made the worst times of their lives somewhat bearable.

The shop door swung open, a sharply dressed man with gelled hair in a style similar to the aftermath of an electric shock walking in, his eyes a piercing green in colour, his frame of medium build, yet there was evidence of toned muscles underneath his clothing, and he carried off this genial air that was instantly appealing to Elena.

After Damon had walked out of her life, she'd began to consider whether avoiding the dating scene was an unnecessary move to make. Maybe this young stranger's appearance was the wake-up call she needed to force herself back into the dating game. Not that she was just going to throw herself in his direction, batting her eyelids, all the while throwing horrendous lines rating high on the desperation scale to impress him. She didn't work like that. Even with Elijah, who'd possessed enough charisma for the both of them, she'd never been too good with the flirting. The odd line, followed by the occasional look of undisguised attraction, topped off with her signature move of peering up through her eyelashes accompanied with a coy smile were the only tricks she tended to use to charm a man. Did she use those methods here, or employ another strategy altogether considering she was still working?

"Stefan," Lexie greeted, cutting across her thoughts.

She watched as Lexie strode over to the stranger, linking her arm through him, grinning broadly, and she noted how comfortable they looked around one another, which instantly deflated any grand idea she had conjured of maybe attempting to get to know him. He was aesthetically pleasing, that was for sure, but he carried an air of warmth and intelligence that she could just automatically sense, and it was what had attracted her, not the sculpted jaw, or the eyes like shards of emeralds, or even his smile, which was uneven, crooked almost, and bled sincerity.

"He's cute," Caroline blurted out, before Bonnie hit her shoulder.

"Tyler," she and Elena chorused, as a deep blush caressed Caroline's cheeks.

"It wasn't an opinion...just a fact," she defended, but kept quiet after that.

Stefan's eyes fell on Elena, and something seemed to settle in his mind which fixated his gaze on hers for a good duration. He narrowed his eyes, contemplating something, and then a small smile crossed his face, which she couldn't help but return.

"Hi," he said, finally casting his gaze around the room, meeting the curious stares of Bonnie and Caroline.

"Hi," they chorused, grinning as they shot speculative glances from him to Elena.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"This is my boy, Stefan," Lexie introduced, linking her arm through his, almost as if she was showing him off.

"Boy?" Stefan's lips pulled into an amused smile. "Selling me a little short there, aren't you?"

"Are you two married?" Caroline ventured curiously.

Lexie let out a bark of a laugh.

"Hell no," she exclaimed. "We're friends. Have been for a long time now." Still chuckling, she turned to him and smiled, "You ready to go?"

"Almost." Stefan's gaze landed on Elena's again. "Mind if I have a word with the owner of this – ah – _establishment_?"

"You promised me today was just about you and me, no business talk," she reminded him, jabbing him sharply in the chest. "Your baby face is just too good at selling promises you can't keep."

"Relax, Lexie. I just need to talk to her about something personal," he assured her.

Lexie's whole demeanor changed, her eyes widening with realisation before an amused grin twisted her lips.

"Fine," she sung, "just secure a hot date on your own time, not mine. You got it?"

Stefan, remarkably, blushed.

"Yes ma'am," he answered with a mock salute.

His eyes landed on Elena, and it was her turn to blush, and suddenly Caroline and Bonnie couldn't get out of there fast enough, giving her meaningful looks, and miming "call me" as they slipped out of the door, already gossiping fiercely between them, which made Elena shake her head with amusement, wondering how much they could imagine between them based on a single sentence.

"Stefan Salvatore," he introduced, holding out his hand.

She frowned.

"You're Damon's brother?" The warm smile left her face. "The one trying to buy me out?"

He winced.

"I was, yes, because frankly I'm under a lot of pressure to keep the company going, and we're not going to make any headway unless we extend. It's not just you I'm badgering, so believe me, I have other annoyed women to try and appease."

She relaxed a little.

"So you're not here to persuade me to sell?" she asked, still suspicious.

"No."

"What changed your mind?"

"This did."

He handed her a piece of paper, which Elena tentatively took, unfolding it as her eyes scanned the words on it.

_Eyes like pools of darkness, drawing you in with every slow blink, guarded by thick black lashes which line up like soldiers. Hair falling past her shoulders in strips, soft to the touch like silk, tinged with varying shades of brown, like autumn's pallet. Lips plush and prominent, tinged with rouge lipstick yet concealing traces of cerise, push themselves out so they stand on display, rolling over one another as they rush to form a careful smile, or conceal a musical laugh. Beauty seeps from her skin like sap from a tree. Her skin, hardly pale, boasts of a pale auburn complexion, as if she's dwelled under the sun a moment too long, and freckles pebble her skin, forming the most complex of pictures._

"Is this –?" she recognised the writing style, much to her surprise. "Did Damon write this?"

Stefan nodded.

"First thing he's written in two years," he confirmed, "and at first I was convinced he was writing about -" he cleared his throat nervously, whatever he'd been about to say fleeing his tongue before it could burst out, something Elena was quick to notice, "- an old friend, but when I walked in and saw you – granted I've seen a picture of you before, but in the flesh it's something different entirely – I knew he'd been writing about you." There was an awkward pause before he began speaking again. "You must really have made an impression on my brother."

Elena glanced down at the words.

Why would Damon have chosen to write about her? She was nothing special. They'd only had a handful of conversations, none of which had been particularly positive. He was stubborn, argumentative and careless with his words, but she still saw something inside him that echoed the man he'd been when he'd written the books. So what had he seen in her exactly?

She scrutinised everything he'd written, unconsciously touching her hair and her face as if confirming they were the way he'd described them. A stupid smile stretched her lips, a weird feeling bubbling inside her, almost a cross between amusement and affection. It was bizarre, having someone attempt to capture her appearance in a few sentences – bizarre, but flattering.

"It's good," she managed to get out, wanting to say so much more but unable to find the words.

"I've kept everything my brother's ever written, from the things he's published, to the first draft of things he claims are worthless," Stefan informed her. "Damon's talented, and I hate that that talent's gone unused in the past two years, so when I saw him at work writing something and then scrunching it up, throwing it away in such a hostile manner I knew it couldn't be work he'd been doing, I had to investigate. Damon writing about anything is a miracle; Damon writing about a _woman _is something even rarer." Something close to affection pooled in his eyes. "Can I ask if you've seen my brother other than the night I asked him to take you to dinner in a bid to get you to consider selling your shop?"

"A few times, yes," she admitted, seeing no point in lying. "The first time I met him, I'd just read his books for the first time, so I was eager to meet him." She quickly outlined her method for tracking him down, which only seemed to amuse Stefan. "When I told him why I was there, he shut the door in my face."

"Sounds like my brother. The moment anyone gets close to seeing the real him, he shuts down and acts out."

"Naturally, this annoyed me, so I gave him a piece of my mind."

"I imagine that probably gave Damon a shock. The last person who told him where he could stick his churlish behaviour ended up with a broken nose."

"Was that you by any chance?"

Stefan grinned sheepishly.

"Yes. That was the last time I tried to convince Damon to do anything. As I recall, all I asked him to do was to write a speech for our Dad's retirement party, and he told me no way in hell, and I'm omitting the swear words of course. His answer was much more colourful than I made it out to be."

"I can imagine," she said, grinning, not sure where this odd sense of affection had come from, but it seemed to have stemmed from this discussion about Damon.

How strange.

"You know, the last thing your brother said to me was a quote from one of his books," she recalled.

At this, Stefan looked startled.

"You know his books?"

"Why does everyone sound so surprised by that?" Elena threw her hands in the air with exasperation. "If you love a book so much, you should know it like you know a friend. I happen to enjoy his writing. It's like a modern take on classic writing."

"I'm not surprised..." Stefan made a face. "I've just found the way my brother writes...well, it goes over my head. I'm used to reading the latest summer blockbuster reads, nothing any deeper than that. I'm just surprised to have come across someone who can actually keep up with the way he writes. I mean, he's always been in another world, my brother." A slow smile dawned on his face, nostalgia pooling in his green eyes. "We used to have this game where, if we were in a place with people we didn't know, we'd pick a person at random and invent a back story for them. Damon was always the best at that, but he could be over imaginative, inventing other characters I couldn't keep track of. At best, I just came up with love triangles, but he would invent this tapestry of stories and somehow make them connect to the next stranger we would play the game about. It was incredible."

Elena smiled, realising she was thriving on the information Stefan was feeding her about Damon. There was no point to acquiring such information, seeing how there was little to no chance of seeing him again, but getting shards of his true persona was like a breath of fresh air she never knew she'd needed until she felt her lungs expand gratefully. Now she knew Stefan a little bit more, she could stop demonising him within the confinements of her own mind. Of course, his retraction of his attempts to buy her property in no way diminished the threat of losing her shop altogether, but it certainly removed one hurdle from the long track she still had to run to secure some stability in her life.

But the more she learned about Damon, the deeper the connection between them became. Although she'd never played such a game like the one Stefan had described, she remembered as a child taking inspiration for her short stories by looking at the people in the world around her, taking some of their physical attributes and creating characters from them. She wondered if she still had the collection of stories she'd been planning to give her mom for her birthday lying around somewhere, her mom being the biggest advocate behind her writing career because it was a passion they had both shared.

She became sidetracked by this thought, only remembering Stefan was here when he gave a nervous cough, signalling the fact he'd observed her momentary absence.

"What are you going to do about new premises?" she asked, instantly discarding her sentimental persona in favour of her business one.

"Now I see this place up close, it wouldn't have been a large enough space to extend to," he confessed, running a hand through his brown locks. "But I have a few other options on the cards, so I guess we'll see."

"Can I ask you something?" Elena was aware of the double meaning in her own question before she'd even asked it, but when prompted to, she ploughed ahead, pushing aside her own personal issues with what she was asking. "I don't really understand what you do, or what kind of company you run, and when Damon told me about you, I pictured a ruthless looking businessman with a permanent scowl and little to no personality. But I see you now and you look so much younger than I pictured. I know next to nothing about you, and yet I can already gather this business stresses you out more than it reaps you any sort of gratification whatsoever. Is this what you really enjoy doing?"

"No," Stefan admitted. "I mean, I kind of took over from it from my father, and running a business is definitely something that challenges me, and I like that about it, but it's not what I ever pictured myself doing."

"What did you picture yourself doing? If you don't mind me asking?"

"You'll laugh."

"I won't."

He sighed.

"I wanted to be a doctor. Damon used to tease me about it, saying my broody personality might put any of my patients into a coma." He grinned sheepishly. "And then he made some sort of remark about how at least I had a hero hairdo to go with being a doctor."

She couldn't help but laugh at that remark.

"He's terrible," she commented.

"Yes, he is," Stefan agreed.

"So why don't you hand over your business to someone who actually enjoys managing one and then pursue your own dreams?"

"I dunno. It seems a little late in the game to try and switch careers, particularly to something that will take years and years of hard study to reach."

"I know I'm hardly one to give advice about working towards your dreams, or whatever, but trust me, it's never too late to switch to something you actually wanna do," she replied, smiling earnestly. "My mom always used to say things only look impossible when you see them in a certain way. If you let yourself see all the options, all the cards on the table, and keep an open mind about everything, only then does the impossible become the possible."

"Sounds like a wise woman," Stefan commented warmly.

Elena smiled back.

"She was."

"Oi, traitor," Lexie called, popping her head back into the shop, a look of mock outrage on her face. "Have you forgotten me?"

Stefan grinned sheepishly.

"I couldn't forget you even if I tried."

"You so much as even try to forget me, I'll kick your ass," she joked, winking at Elena who found the entire exchange amusing.

"Thank you again for taking the time to come down and do this signing, Lexie," she said gratefully. "I appreciate it."

Lexie seemed to speculate for a moment before dipping into her bag to retrieve a cheque book, making a few cursory scribbles before handing it to her.

"What's this?" Elena asked, stunned into silence.

"Consider it a donation to your cause," Lexie responded, smiling broadly.

"I – I can't accept this..."

"Yes, you can." Lexie scrutinised her carefully before adding, "Look, I can tell this isn't your dream, Elena. No one ever dreams about owning a shop filled to the brim with books after all. I also know whatever sentimental value this place has isn't something you can let go of just yet, so this is a contribution from one sentimental girl to another. Just make sure and ask yourself at some point if the reason you're holding on to something is the right one for you. Don't let the past keep you from chasing the future."

Elena couldn't respond, some sort of emotion clogging up her throat, preventing a coherent response escaping her lips.

She watched as Stefan and Lexie exited the shop, resuming their banter until the shop door closed behind them.

All of a sudden, Elena became aware that she was left in a place that held no joy for her anymore. The books, which used to whisper their stories to her, just lay cold and silent on their shelves, almost as if they were mocking her. Yet still a part of her yearned to preserve the past, re-capture the magic Pages To Go once had, but maybe Lexie was right. Maybe there was a cut off point where you stopped holding on to something just because it held memories from another time.

A little too late, Elena realised she was still holding the paper with Damon's writing on it, her fingers absent-mindedly caressing the places where the pen had started and ended, like she was trying to hold on to a momentum. Maybe she needed to stop denying the effect he was having on her; it was the equivalent of the rain occurring after a clap of thunder, that same sense of having a force of nature shake the foundations of your world only for you to be left in the downpour afterwards, wondering if it was worth it. He was a breath of fresh air in a suffocating atmosphere, an intense heat after a flood, a rocky wave after miles and miles of flat water, a man designed to knock her off her feet just so he could pick her back up. He was unpredictable, dark, mysterious, an enigma wrapped in a bitter cloak, and she was starting to think she was becoming a little obsessed with someone who had made it perfectly clear their worlds weren't meant to have crossed.

Maybe that was where the appeal lay in forbidden love – the idea that two worlds, so different from one another, could collide, the aftermath a devastating display of toxic love that threatened to consume and devour everything in its path, so intense a love they bred between them.

Elena clenched the paper tightly, her eyes scanning the words, memorising each sentence as if her life depended on it. Then, with a resolute sigh, she tucked it into her bag, retrieved her keys and proceeded to close the shop.

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A black Sedan pulled up outside Pages To Go, making a none too subtle noise as it screeched to a halt. The front door opened, a pair of polished shoes swinging out before making contact with the pavement, a solitary figure walking up to the window, trailing a hand along the letters printed in an elegant font on the front of it.

A second figure joined him, both clad in suits, something unspoken resting between them, the atmosphere tense and heavy.

"You said your trip into the city would be brief. I didn't expect you to take a detour down memory lane," spoke a heavily accented voice. "It's dangerous for you to be here."

"I know, I know, but I couldn't resist coming back and taking a look at the place. It's flourished under her care."

"My sources say it faces financial ruin." A sidelong glance was exchanged. "I could requisition the money to buy them more time, if you so desired it?"

"And risk exposing her to him? He has eyes and ears everywhere, Niklaus, particularly on where our money comes from and goes to. We have a set amount of time to fulfil each and every one of his ludicrous demands before he demands blood, and whose do you think he'll go after?" A heavy sigh pierced the air. "Do you realise how furious it makes me that we have to answer to a man who we once might've called brother-in-law? A man with a business as dark as his soul, who dragged our own sister in so deep that when she surfaced she was beyond recognition, a pale shadow of her former self, her sharp tongue metaphorically whittled down to a blunt stump? We traded our services to pay for her chance at having a normal existence, and we have supplied him with two years worth of faithful service, but his grip only tightens every day. The moment he gets so much of a trace of what we're planning, he'll hunt for blood and it won't be me that suffers for our treachery."

"It isn't treachery, so much as a... revolution."

"You like to make everything sound like a war."

"Isn't it one though? I'm sure history can recall similar circumstances where there were plots to overthrow a ruthless dictator at the risk of civilian casualties."

"You do enjoy throwing your extensive knowledge of history at me wherever possible, don't you?"

"I thrive on bloodshed, always have. History is a documentation of where substantial bloodshed has gotten us. Rather fascinating to learn about, don't you think?"

"It's no way for a man to live, with his fists in the air, always searching for a fight no matter the cost to himself should he find one."

A low chuckle rumbled from the other man's throat.

"Better to live always on the edge than to spend the days pining after a love whose heart you so cruelly broke."

"Elena must never know about me. She must go on believing whatever lie she's told herself to keep herself together."

"What makes you think she had to lie to herself to get over you?"

The eyes of the other man softened visibly.

"Because Elena has a habit of burying her head in the sand to protect herself from getting hurt. She'll tell herself anything to avoid facing a heartbreaking truth. As unhealthy as it sounds as a method for moving on, it's what keeps her surviving, and I can't fault her for it."

"You don't plan on returning to her, even after all this is over, do you?"

There was a slight moment of hesitation.

"I don't know," was the eventual confession. "It would be tempting to come home and explain everything, lay all my cards out for her to either accept or discard, but I couldn't disrupt her life like that. It wouldn't be fair."

"Probably a wise choice, mate. She's most likely moved on to someone else anyway."

"As devastating a thought as it is to contemplate, I suspect you're right. I want her to be happy and safe. It's all I've ever wanted."

"Touching, Elijah, simply touching." The sarcasm was plain to hear in his brother's voice, but his brother didn't hold it against him. "Let's get out of here before we're seen. We've lingered too long here already."

And with a last parting look of mingled sorrow and nostalgia in the direction of the shop, Elijah and his brother slid silently back into the car and disappeared into the night.

* * *

A/n: Apologies for the lateness in updating. Real life took me away and I kind of got sidetracked with job hunting, but now things seem to be looking up in both departments, I will be concentrating on this fic a little more. Elijah's brief return gives somewhat of an explanation as to where he's been but there's a lot more to be explored in future chapters. I know there was a lack of Delena in this chapter but something brings them unexpectedly together next chapter, and it leads one of them to make a confession that will change their relationship. Stay tuned for all that and more ;) thank you once again for all the reviews and all the faith you have in me. I really love it. Even if you don't review, just the knowledge that some of you wait patiently for this fic to update is just enough for me. Also changing the rating of this to M for future smut/lemons.


	14. Welcome To My Car Crash of a Life

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 14

Welcome to My Car Crash of a Life

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Tucked into bed, a copy of Lexie Branson's new book in hand, Elena found her mind wasn't actually on reading. She kept reading the same sentence over and over, unaware she was actually doing it, her thumb absentmindedly caressing the pages of the book, the new smell associated with all freshly printed books a kind of perfume she was happily absorbing, even if her mind wasn't all there.

All she could gather so far from the book entitled 'Ripper' was that it was about a man with two identities, who easily hid this darker side by masquerading as a model citizen. She was only 48 pages in so far, but it was easy to work out what was going on; the whole 'double life' wasn't exactly an underused plot in literature, but Lexie seemed to be giving it an interesting twist, making sure to emphasise the nature of the protagonist-slash-antagonist was perfected to ensure his darker alter-ego was never discovered. He even had a romance going, although how clueless did his girlfriend have to be not to realise her boyfriend was this whole other person?

Elena shut the book when she realised she could hear Jenna coming in. There was a timid knock on her door before her aunt's exhausted face peered around the door.

"Rough night?" she offered, chuckling. "How's the pity job going?"

"Yes to the first, and as for the second, I forgot how gruelling bar work can be," Jenna moaned, entering the room just to collapse on Elena's bed, her body draped over Elena's legs much to her amusement. "I did some bar work in college, and I could handle the obnoxious antics of college boys, but men are an entirely different story. Always angling their seats to get a better look at your cleavage, and they're certainly not above demanding drinks of you like you're this superhero with the ability to pour multiple drinks. Hello? Do I look like I have eight arms here?!"

"I bet Matt was grateful for your help though."

"Oh the kid is like a saint. Just an absolute hero. Couldn't own a bar and deal with some of the asses he deals with. No way." Jenna propped herself up on her elbows suddenly grinning. "Damon was in tonight."

"That doesn't surprise me. Isn't he in every night?"

"Yes, but tonight in particular he looked pretty down about something," Jenna continued, that smug grin still fixed to her face. "Maybe he was regretting a decision to cut a certain someone out of his life, hm?"

Elena gave her an unimpressed look.

"I doubt it. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because as your concerned, but fun, aunt, I'm thinking maybe something might be happening between you two that neither of you are letting on."

"Oh God, you didn't say anything to him did you?"

"No, but his friend Ric was more than happy to supply me with information." Jenna continued to grin, much to Elena's chagrin. "He said Damon was even snarkier than usual since the night he said goodbye to you."

"Wow, am I back at high school or...?"

"He also said he and Matt had developed this drinking game – take a shot every time Damon gives a lovesick sigh. Of course, Matt couldn't get involved, but it meant Ric got pretty wasted pretty damn quickly."

"You're reading _way _too much into this," Elena scolded. "I don't even know the guy, and what I do know tells me I should stay far away from him. All we've shared is a couple of meals, a few awkward conversations, and that's it. I seriously doubt I've made even the slightest hint of an impression on him."

"You're forgetting one very important factor in all of this," Jenna commented.

"And what would that be?"

Jenna gave her a warm smile.

"You have the power to make anybody fall in love with you. Miranda had a theory that it was the Gilbert eyes, but I think it's something else altogether. I think it's your warm, compassionate, selfless nature...maybe coupled with the Gilbert eyes." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "You're a heartbreaker."

"And yet my heart seems to be the one that gets broken," Elena sighed, but she felt a warm blush caress her cheeks at the compliment.

Jenna suddenly yawned.

"God, what time is it?"

"One in the morning."

"Matt let me go early again," Jenna noted, affection blooming in the corners of her eyes. "He's such a sweet kid."

"He'll fire you if you keep calling him a kid you know." Elena's eyes widened as an earlier part of the conversation came back to her. "This Ric guy... Is he cute? You keep mentioning him a lot, so I was just wondering..."

"Goodnight," Jenna suddenly sung, blushing like a schoolgirl, leaping for the door, finding enough energy to exit the room in a transparent bid to evade anymore questions along this line.

Elena laughed as her aunt disappeared out of the room, tempted to return to her book except she knew now what the distraction had been which had kept her from absorbing all the words before her.

_Damon. _

Despite her better judgement, she liked him. There was more to his gruff nature than first met the eye. From the first time she'd met him, she'd been stunned into silence by his physical appearance, but it was more than that. Whenever she read a book, part of her always wondered about the person who wrote it, what inspired them to write that particular book, what real life experiences they drew from and what kind of people they were influenced by. Meeting Damon had been a strange experience, because coming face to face with him had raised more questions than answers, and he fit the cliché stereotype of tortured writer to a tee, if you forgot about the part where he didn't write anymore, but she sensed there was so much more to uncover, so much he'd buried that he didn't want anyone to discover. He intrigued and frustrated her in equal measures.

Elena reached over and grabbed one of the pictures of her family from the window sill her bed was conveniently next to, her parents forever frozen in time, captured smiling behind a thin sheet of glass encased in a cheap frame. She missed them but she was no longer crippled by their loss, yet the possibility of losing the shop, losing the last part of them she had left, sent a tidal wave of emotion washing over her, and it was almost suffocating.

Deciding to place more value on getting some sleep than wallowing over her parents, Elena tucked the photo back on the shelf and settled back into bed, realising with an acute sense of wariness that ever since she'd met Damon – the real Damon, not the idealised one she'd built up in her head, a carefully constructed fantasy which had in no way matched up to the real article – she'd been infrequent with her usual habit of talking to the photograph version of her parents, a change which unsettled her. She didn't know why it unsettled her exactly, only she feared she was losing a part of herself by thinking about a man who had made it clear he wasn't any good for her, that he was essentially broken and not the kind of guy you could "fix" and make whole again. Not that she liked that approach to any sort of relationship; flaws and personal scars were what made someone real and human and, above all else, _alive. _

She suddenly shook her head, clearing her thoughts which were too philosophical and deep for this time.

Settling back against the sheets, she gave a cursory (habitual) glance at the empty side of the bed, lay back her head, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, letting those shockingly blue eyes haunt her until she felt every part of her relax, her thoughts slowly evolving into dreams which consumed her.

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"Hi, my name is Alice Wells. I'm thirty three years old and, a year ago today, my only son Sam went out for a bike ride, and he never came home. It never gets any easier, going through each day waiting for news and knowing you're not gonna get any that'll satisfy your heart, but I have the support of my husband and my friends – that includes you all in here – and I'm making a real go at it. I joined this group because sometimes the best people to help you in a situation like this are people who have gone through the exact same thing as you. As blessed as I am to have a network of kind souls outside this group, it's hard to explain to someone who has never been through what you have what it's like to live this way; to always hover by the phone, or the door, waiting for the day someone rings or knocks and gives you any kind of news on your child. Ignorance is bliss, the saying goes, but not for the things your heart needs to know. Ignorance is all you can live in while out there your loved one is going through god-knows-what. If, that is, they're even alive. But they say you know if something bad has happened to your child, don't they? Your child grows inside your body for nine months, and even outside your body that bond still exists. A pregnant mother knows instinctively if something is happening to her unborn child, even without any medical help whatsoever, and I like to think that ability doesn't stop the moment your child comes out of you. Every mother knows if the worst has happened to her child. It's the same sort of an instinct that drives an animal inland before the storm hits, a feeling buried so deep inside you that it's a part of your nature, a part of the very fabric of who you are. Something happened to take my baby away from me, but until proven otherwise, I still have hope he's alive somewhere. Some people call it denial. I call it hope."

Bonnie sat next to Luka, listening to the words of the inspiring people who sat around her. One woman described how both her siblings went missing one after the other, with one showing up dead a week later while the other had yet to be found; a man with solemn eyes and a set of the brightest green eyes she'd ever seen recounted how he'd turned his back on his daughter in the park for a minute while trying to find a good spot to set up the picnic he'd brought along to celebrate her birthday, and then when he'd looked back she was gone. He'd said he still celebrated her birthday each year even though it'd been nine years and the pain of losing her got harder and harder to deal with.

"Bonnie," Luka murmured, his fingers lightly brushing hers. "You wanna say why you're here?"

Bonnie swallowed.

"Do I have to?"

"No," he assured her. "But people pour their hearts out here. It's a safe space. We have a few volunteers here who just want to help, but for the most part everyone here has had someone go missing." He gave her a crooked smile. "My sister, Greta, went missing six years ago, but the difference between my case and these others is that we had contact from her about three years ago telling us to stop looking for her, that she didn't want to be found, and me and my dad... well, we had to find a way to be okay with that. These people haven't had any answers, no letter dropped through their mail boxes to tell them they're alive. They cling to hope because it's all they have, but it gets harder every day. If anyone's gonna understand what you're going through, it's these people."

When the previous speaker, a red headed woman with twin tear trails lining her cheeks, had finished her impassioned speech, Bonnie made up her mind about what it was she was going to do.

"Hi," she said nervously, casting a wary glance around the room. For the most part, the people around her weren't much older than her, and there were a couple of younger faces that inadvertently gave her the courage to plunge ahead with her introduction. "My name is Bonnie. When I was about seven, my mother left home. It was a deliberate choice, something she chose to do, so in some ways, maybe I don't belong to this group. You all want answers you might never get, and that kind of hurt I just can't identify with. I found a letter of my mother's in among some old stuff, and I, being the coward I am, refused to read it. I used to spend hours as a child rooting through some of the stuff she left behind, her clothes, her jewellery, items like that she'd not bothered taking with her, pretending she was just taking a long trip, and that any minute she would burst through the door, armed with gifts and souvenirs from where she'd been, and come sweeping inside to give me a hug.

"Life isn't like that. You can only keep up a fantasy for so long before eventually you have to face the truth. As children, we play pretend because it's a form of escapism, a way of conjuring up stories that we've either heard from other people, or ones we've made up inside our own minds. The day we stop is the day we start to realise that there's only one role we get to play, and we just have to make the best of that role. We can change physical aspects of our characters, and we can change decisions that we make, but we can't change who we are deep down. I used to take injured animals I found in the woods back home, and nurse them back to health before letting them go, but before I let them go I'd always tell them that I was only leaving them because they had somewhere else they needed to be, and that they didn't belong with me. And that got me thinking about my mom. If you make a choice to leave your child, you have to have a damn good reason for doing so, right? I used to lie awake at night, counting all the reasons she might have for wanting to leave me. I always found a different one each night so that the list got up to a ridiculously high number. I think I'd always believed it was me that was the problem, that I was the person who chased her away from her otherwise perfect life. I went to a therapist a couple of times, and he told me that children often blame themselves for traumatic events because they look for a reason for the madness, whereas adults are more inclined to either accept the fact that terrible things happen to people, or they wallow in despair at how unfair life can be because they've seen a lot more of it."

Bonnie suddenly took a moment to look around the room, taking courage in the fact that everyone seemed to be hanging onto her every word. Elena had always said she knew how to get everyone believing in every word she said, and Caroline always remarked that it was ridiculous how charismatic she could be given the fact she was always known as the shy one of the three. She'd always had this tendency to be the reserved girl, the girl who didn't make any impulsive decision, who always weighed every option up carefully before making any sort of action. People thought it was her nature; perhaps it was, but she knew deep down it was only because she was trying to make sure she did everything she could to prevent herself from inadvertently pushing anyone else away.

"I only know of my mom what my dad tells me, and as I got older and older, not all of what I heard was pleasant. As a kid, you kind of build your parents up to be heroes inside your head, and when you hear or see things that suggest that they're not, you start to grow up a little, and a part of you dies a little – the innocent part. I look at all the parents here today who've lost their children, and it kind of restores my faith in the whole concept of heroes again. Because here you all are, helping other people who are suffering a loss similar to your own, even while going through the motions of getting on with life yourself, and you just refuse to give up hope. It's inspirational." She took a deep breath before concluding, "My mom made the choice to give up her family for whatever life she has now. In a sense, she did go missing, and there's a chance if I ever find her I'm not gonna like what I see, but I have the choice to at least get closure on the woman I used to know. But I'm not ready, so I guess that's why I'm here: to help other people get closure somehow. Maybe it's not the healthiest way of dealing with what I'm still going through, but it's the only way I know how to cope. Because the truth is, I'm still that little girl wondering why her mom just abandoned her without any reason. I guess I'm here because it's easier to believe she's missing, that something kept her from coming home one day, than believing she walked out on me through her own choice. And that's my story, I guess."

She sat down, suddenly self-conscious, aware Luka seemed to be holding her hand, something she wasn't sure whether she liked or not, but the motion carried a lot of comfort to it, so she let him hold her hand, aware there seemed to be a ripple of an indeterminate emotion spreading through the group after she'd finished speaking, because eyes flickered onto her, something close to empathy dawning in the faces of the people around her.

"Why are they staring at me like that?" she whispered to Luka.

"It's because nobody really reveals much the first time they come here. They give a few short sentences about who they've lost, or why they're here, and that's about it. They take a while to open up to strangers." Luke gave her a warm smile, and that might've just been a twinkle of awe in his eyes, she couldn't entirely be sure. "You just have this ability to make an entire room of people hang onto your every word. You have power in your words, Bonnie Bennett, and I think you should know that."

She felt giddy by his words, and a small smile twisted her lips. Already empowered by simply listening to the people around her, as well as finding the courage to confess her own story to people who weren't her friends, Bonnie felt at that moment she could've taken on any problem whatsoever, and tackle it with the greatest of ease.

Her eyes locked with Luka's, and the way he looked at her was certainly something she'd seen in the eyes of boys before; problem was, whenever they'd looked that way, it had always been directed towards Caroline or Elena, never her. She was the girl who passed messages along from cute guys to her friends, who occasionally got the odd appreciative glance but nothing more. It wasn't down to looks at all, and she wasn't shallow enough to believe it was and undergo a huge physical transformation because of it, but it was simply the fact she'd made herself emotionally unavailable. With a single look, she could freeze a guy out, letting him know without words that she wasn't interested. She had to wonder if that was a side effect of her mother leaving – abandonment tended to leave a deep scar you couldn't see until you'd probed the area long enough to reveal the traces – or whether it was just a conscious choice to keep herself at a distance. She'd admired boys from afar, giggled when they'd given her a cursory glance, done all the normal teenage girl reactions to the idea of having a boyfriend, but something had kept her from taking that leap of faith in the hopes that someone would've been worth the risk.

A couple of guys she'd eventually dated had turned out to be more fans of themselves than anything else, and one guy she'd dated in college had been a firm believer in polygamy, and had done absolutely nothing to hide that fact, and all in all her dating history read like a who's who of scumbag boyfriends, with the odd decent one thrown into the mix.

_And then there was Jeremy. _

Except... was there anything there really? Sure they'd exchanged a few touches – innocent by all appearance, yet stirring up feelings that could definitely not be classed as innocent – and a few flirtatious glances, but he was _Elena's little brother. _She didn't know whether she was crossing a line merely entertaining the notion of pursuing any kind of relationship with him, but perhaps it was better not to go there with him.

With Luka, however, he'd been so supportive, and she hardly even knew him. He'd given her his number after they'd initially met, calling her the night before to talk her through what would happen. He wasn't unattractive either, with his light brown skin, short hair to the point where he almost looked bald as it was so easy to miss the stubble of hair lining his head in certain lights, slender body sculpted in such a way that his muscles, though not exactly noticeable, were vaguely defined through his clothing, so you at least saw he kept himself in shape, and his eyes which were twin puddles of a dark brown – so dark in fact, sometimes you could almost mistake them for being black.

Bonnie shook herself awake, disturbed by the fact she'd come here fussing over one issue only to come out of the session obsessing over something different.

She tried to fade into her seat as the next person stood up to talk, aware Luka's eyes were on her, yet unable to meet his gaze in case her heart happened to be stamped right across her head, where everyone could see it.

After college, she'd sworn off dating for two very good reasons.

One, there was the chance she would be left heartbroken again, a perfectly plausible reason to avoid relationships.

Two, there was always the chance she'd be doing the heartbreaking, which sounded kind of absurd, even to her own ears, as a means of keeping guys at a distance, except when you considered the fact her greatest fear right about now was turning out like her mother by letting herself – and the people around her - believe she was happy right up until the day she stepped out the door with no intention of coming back.

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Evening traffic was common enough, and he'd clocked enough time sitting in them to fill all the hours in a weekend, but something about this traffic jam seemed to bug Damon Salvatore to no end.

It could've been the endless parade of cheesy love songs on the radio, which from the guy's side boasted about the incomparable beauty of the object of the singer's affection (they were all the same no matter which one you picked), and about how it was such an obvious beauty that stood out from amidst the millions of other girls out there; from the girl's side, the songs usually revolved around how the singer's entire life had changed because of having this new love in her life, how nothing would ever be the same even if the relationship fizzled out and burned. He preferred songs which didn't make such trite and clichéd statements, where the messages were more subtle, the lyrics crooned at you rather than shouted at. There was the odd pop song he could stand to listen to without wanting to set fire to his ears afterwards, but otherwise his music collection only extended as far as perhaps the 1970s, nothing beyond that.

Maybe the extra irritation he felt came from the fact he'd had a less than productive day, coupled with the fact Stefan seemed to have given him some smug looks today with no properly explained reason behind them. His brother could be such a smartass when he wanted to be, but there was definitely a reason behind the twinkle in his green eyes, but Damon had given up trying to fathom an explanation purely because it had not been worth his attention.

Or maybe, just maybe, there was another reason entirely why this drive from work to home had driven him to new depths of frustration. Lately, ever since he'd made the decision to avoid Elena because he was absolutely certain she could've done so much better than having to put up with his company, Ric and Matt had devised a series of games based on the misery he'd been unable to wipe from his face. First, there were the drinking games –shot based of course: _take a drink every time Damon lets slip a sigh indicating he cares more than he dares to admit about Elena._ Then, much to his irritation, they'd taken bets on how quick it would take his interest to pique if Jenna, the new and feistiest bar staff member, casually slipped in an anecdote about Elena while chatting casually to Matt about her day. Ric had earned an easy five dollars when Jenna had mentioned her niece's fascination with kinky toys. It had been a joke, of course, devised between her and Ric, but the fact of the matter was it had piqued two reactions in Damon, both involving a rapid rising motion, yet only one could be disguised with a discreet shifting motion.

Nonetheless, Ric, Jenna and Matt had enjoyed coaxing various reactions out of him which proved their theory that he was pining over Elena, and he was frustrated that they harped on about it like he was supposed to give a damn about it.

She was a woman – attractive, he supposed, and very intelligent; she possessed a sharp tongue, a smile that could send any man to his knees (and with that thought came a round of dirty images that had him cringing at the wheel, disgusted at his own lack of control), and capable of finding meaning in literature he'd otherwise abandoned to a dark corner of his mind, convinced his writing was just a feeble attempt at trying to join the great authors of his time, a less than noteworthy attempt at turning his passion to glory, and wasn't that the mistake many a man before him had made relating to their individual talents?

The traffic soon cleared before Damon realised he'd spent a good five minutes trying to summarise Elena Gilbert in his mind, and for no good reason other than trying to figure out why his friends – and he used that term loosely – could've seen him as being obsessed with Elena. He ploughed down the now free road with a vengeance, turning down various quiet streets, deliberately taking the long route home just to gain some perspective on a situation he was rapidly losing control of.

He didn't see the car coming from the opposite direction until it was almost too late, and he swerved dramatically, the car spinning around before coming neatly to a halt on one side of a quiet street which led to nothing but a dead end – quite literally, as all he saw at the other end was a brick wall. The other car, seemingly undeterred by the near death experience it had endured, raced ahead, to the wall which gave this dead end street its name. Damon could only watch with a kind of quiet horror, the same sort of horror that unfolds behind the eyes of anyone in the wake of watching a tragedy occur before them without the means to help or stop it in any way, as it made a horrible crunching noise as it made sharp contact with the wall, the bonnet scrunching up against the bricks, the sound of glass smashing flooding the silence, the engine emitting an angry hissing noise as steam seeped out from underneath the bonnet.

The whole crash took about a minute to happen, but to Damon all the sound effects and actually witnessing the devastation made it feel like it took place over a longer duration of time. It was basic instinct to call for an ambulance, his legs working at double speed as he raced towards the car, vaguely aware he felt like he'd seen it before yet unable to pick it out from his mind, which was a haze right now. He tried to peer into the wreckage to see if the driver had survived, but he couldn't make out anything just yet. The bonnet, though horrifically scrunched up against the wall, hadn't condensed the car, so, to that effect, Damon took hold of the handle of the door and gave it a yank, the entire door coming off in his hands.

The driver was a woman, who was slumped across the dashboard, the airbags deployed before her.

"Excuse me?" he couldn't resist touching her, giving her body a light shake to check for consciousness. "Are you okay?"

She gave a low moan, lifting her head, and the fact it was Elena gave him a justifiable reason for stepping back in shock, noting the cut along her forehead, a long line of blood dripping down the centre of her face. Her complexion, naturally, was pale, and she seemed to have a hard time focusing on his face, her eyes widening and narrowing as she tried to snap herself out of this stupor she'd fallen under.

"D-Damon?" she questioned, recognising him instantly the moment her vision cleared, her voice a pitch higher than he was familiar with.

"Hey," he replied softly, "Stupid question given the circumstances, but are you okay?"

"I think so." She suddenly gave an irrepressible sob. "I couldn't stop the c-car. The b-brakes wouldn't w-work." She grabbed his wrist, tears streaming down her face. "Y-You have to k-know that."

"I know," he assured her, not sure why it was important for him to know that exactly but going along with it anyway.

"I n-nearly hit you," she stammered, and he could feel her hand shaking on his wrist. "I'm so sorry..."  
"Trust you to think of me when you're the one who who's hurt," he teased gently, unable to stop himself from caressing the side of her face, cringing at the sight of blood, not because the sight of it made him nauseous but because it was marring her beautiful features, everything he'd involuntarily committed to memory. "Is anything broken?"

She shook her head, attempting to move before releasing a cry of pain.

"I think my ribs are fractured," she breathed, clutching her chests. "I didn't have time to brace for impact so my entire body just slammed against the wheel."

"Why did you come down here, if I may ask? It looked like ..."

He wasn't even going to say what it looked like, but she knew from his expression what he'd been about to say. He didn't even know why he cared so much, but right now his heart was thundering away, galloping like a wild and untameable steed, and his breath kept catching in his throat every time he relieved the incident.

She lifted her head, her eyes, glistening with fresh tears, locking with his.

"I knew my brakes weren't working about half a mile back. They worked for most of my journey but about five miles back, when I hit the traffic jam, I was aware something wasn't right, but I figured I'd have enough time to get to a gas station and work out what the problem was. When I realised they weren't working altogether, I panicked, and tried to figure out what route wasn't going to make me crash into any other cars or...or...people..."

She was slurring some of her words, the rest tumbling off her tongue at such a fast rate that he could only just catch what she was saying.

"An ambulance is coming, Elena. You're fading fast," he said, unable to hide the panic in his voice.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked, her voice small, her hand entwining with his, which felt so natural that he couldn't help but grip hers back.

"Absolutely."

"Everywhere hurts," she moaned, letting out a nervous laugh that contradicted the rest of her body language.

"I know." Damon rose fluently to his feet, aware he had to try and get her out of there as soon as possible. "Listen, can you move at all?"

She tried, and got as far as swinging her legs out of the door, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled and he was quick to catch her, lifting her out and taking her to safety, hating the fact that the first thought to pop up in his mind was how good it felt to hold her in his arms, even if the circumstances were less than desirable.

"Never thought I'd be the damsel in distress kind of girl," she mumbled, laughing hysterically even as tears poured down her face.

"If it helps, you're the best damsel I've nearly had crash into me ever," he told her, and the comment coaxed a shaky laugh from her blood covered lips.

"This whole thing right here is a giant metaphor for my life," she told him.

"How's that?"

"I can't control my life anymore than I could control my damn car," she exclaimed, suddenly bursting into tears, something which suddenly put him at a disadvantage seeing how he knew next to nothing about comforting crying women.

He stumbled a little further on down the road with her still encased in his arms and then, as if the weight of the epiphany he was having was literal, he sunk to his knees, making sure Elena was still safe, one hand still squeezing hers, the epiphany being that just as he'd begun thinking about her (but, let's face it, when had he ever stopped?) she would (literally) come crashing into his life again. _Talk about a flair for the dramatic_, he thought, making a weak mental joke to keep himself sane.

He took a chance and peered down at her but she'd slipped into unconscious, her features settling into a look of peace. Checking – for his own peace of mind – that she still had a pulse, he thought about taking his car and rushing her to hospital himself, but the ambulance was on its way and, truthfully, he liked holding her in his arms this way. He studied every part of her, caressing her skin softly with a few fingers, stopping where it felt sore and tender, where bruises would surely bloom, and he inadvertently held her tighter.

If there was one clear sure sign that she was meant to be in his life, this had to be it. She could've nearly crashed into any other car in the city, yet his had been the one she'd narrowly missed. He wasn't a big believer in fate or destiny, but that had to mean something right?

Damon silently groaned at the gleeful expressions he could envision on Alaric and Jenna's faces if they had access to the thoughts which were flickering through his mind right about now. They would be even more insufferable than they were already, but maybe they had a point.

Though they were strangers, essentially, he'd kind of had her on the brain ever since she'd knocked on his door and left him speechless by the way she'd handled his rude behaviour. Their continued interactions after that had proven she knew his books like the back of her hand – knew his _characters _better than he'd known them himself. He and Stefan had once joked that if he became a successful author on par with some of the literary geniuses who existed today, he could have his pick of his female fans like he was a rock star and they were his groupies, but truthfully he'd always said to himself if he dated a fan of his work, they'd have to know his books as well as he knew them himself. They didn't necessarily have to like his work, but they'd have to have read them, and Elena had done all that and more.

Could you fall for someone this quickly or was it just a mere crush, the kind school girls easily believe is love but really is nothing more than an illusion of what they want? He wanted to believe it was the start of something like love, that same giddy rush of entangled emotions which nipped away at your skin like hungry piranhas, slowly stripping pieces of you away until it revealed the reveal you, not the various facades human beings wore on a daily basis to fool the world.

Damon kept his eyes on the broken girl in his arms, even as the sirens pierced his ears as an ambulance came skidding to a halt beside him, paramedics leaping out to ease Elena from his arms, checking her vitals before putting her on a gurney and wheeling her away.

After that, he didn't hesitate to leap in after her, merely giving a curt nod when one of the paramedics asked if he was her boyfriend. It just seemed easier to go with that small white lie for now, especially knowing despite the fact love had emotionally crushed him in the past he fully intended to turn that lie into a truth in the near future.

* * *

A/n: This chapter was longer than it needed to be, and Bonnie's part went deeper than I expected it to go, but since the overall theme of the story is about loss and moving on, and how traumas shape us as human beings, it ties in nicely to the overall arc, plus Bonnie's story will entwine with Elena's at some point, so it's not just random. I love writing Bonnie as well, and most Delena AU verses either have her as a minor role, or just omit her altogether so I'm trying to give her a bigger role. Thank you for all your reviews/faves/alerts! I love each and every one! I'll try and update this quicker, it depends on how much muse I get! I had a lot for this chapter! :)


	15. We Have Come Undone

The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 15

We Have Come Undone

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_It was a familiar situation; the smell of disinfectant, repellent to the nostrils, an instant headache to the brain, was strong in the air, and her eyes opened to a world of white, dirty grey tiles the only colour change – and, let's face it, not a dramatic one at that. Her fingers began to shake by her sides, the memories of the car crash still so strong inside her that it almost felt like she was reliving it, and then a soothing hand lay itself on her forehead, caressing it so that she felt instantly at ease. _

_ She turned to the side, noticing Elijah had a calm demeanour, even in situations like this one, and yet his mouth was pushed into a flat line, revealing nothing and everything simultaneously. He was clearly on edge, yet had reigned in enough of his emotions to keep himself together for her._

_ "Hey," she murmured, her voice slightly marred by the drugs she was on. "What happened?"_

_ "Domestic situation." The upper corner of his lip twitched, as if he was about to laugh. "I got a call from a rather hysterical Caroline saying you were here after an accident at home. When I enquired as to how severe the accident was, I was merely told that you would prefer to tell me yourself. So... you tell me. What happened?"_

_ A jumble of memories came back to her, and it took her a moment to put them together._

_ "I used your ladder to try and reach on top of the cabinets in the kitchen to get something to show Caroline," she recalled, certain letters coming out slurred, as though she were intoxicated not under medication. _

_ "The ladder I specifically told you not use because it was unsafe?" He didn't sound angry, just vaguely amused. "Why?"_

_ "I may have forgotten you told me they were unsafe," Elena admitted, rubbing her head. "All I remember is that I managed to get to the item I needed to before the ladder buckled under me and I went crashing to the floor. Next thing I know, I'm waking up here. So..." she peered up at him through sheepish eyes, "...what's the damage?"_

_ He sighed, leaning forward to kiss her forehead in a remarkably tender gesture._

_ "You're suffering from a mild concussion and, because of the way you fell, you've sprained your ankle. No permanent damage though." He sighed. "You possess such enviable intelligence, Elena, except when it comes to simple tasks such as listening to basic health and safety warnings. What am I going to do with you?"_

_ "Take me back to the girlfriend store because I obviously suck," she mumbled, ducking her head under the covers. _

_ He lifted back the covers, his eyes twinkling with full blown amusement. _

_ "Only you," he chided gently, before planting his lips on hers._

_ She responded eagerly, swiping her tongue against his, her hand snaking around the back of his neck, pulling him downwards until he broke the kiss, his gaze now reminiscent of the glances her parents used to give whenever she attempted to push her luck when trying to persuade them to let her go out, that mixed look of exasperation and tender affection quite at home with his own features._

_ "You're insatiable," he informed her, giving her a low chuckle._

_ "And you're mean, making fun of a girl when she's in hospital, then denying her the one treatment that might actually make her feel better." Elena smirked up at him. "Just wait until the next time you have a bad day and looking for some sympathy sex. You'll get a pity kiss and that'll be it."_

_ "Don't deny the power of the pity kiss. It can very easily turn into a pity cuddle, then a pity fondle and that, in turn, nine times out of ten, turns into pity sex."_

_ "Where are you plucking _those_ statistics from? FYI that is a typical guy thing to say. You boys think anything can lead to sex, which is just nonsense."_

_ He chuckled._

_ "Get some rest," he said, kissing her again. "I'm going to get some coffee and let Caroline come in here and give you the third degree for nearly dying on her – a direct quote from her mouth, I might add." _

_ "Get out of here then," she replied, smiling. "Sorry for scaring you."_

_ "You make my life an adventure," he said with a shrug. "What can I say?" _

Eyes flickering open, Elena found herself, once again, in the confinements of a hospital. Even before her eyes had fully opened, the background noise and general atmosphere was a general indicator as to where she was, so she bypassed all that initial confusion most people probably experienced the first moment their eyes opened in this place.

She turned her head to one side, noting she seemed to be in an unoccupied room, the only sound being the machinery next to her. As she turned the other way, she was disappointed to see there was no one next to her. The gut-wrenching feeling when she realised her parents were gone tended to flare up in moments like this, because they would've been the first port of call to go to in terms of reaching family and friends. Was Jeremy listed as her next of kin? She had trouble remembering seeing how it had been a lengthy period of time since her last hospital visit.

"You're awake," came the lulls of a familiar voice, which had Elena's head lifting up so fast a loud cracking noise filled the room.

"Damon?" She took a moment to remember why he was here. "You're still..."

"I'm still here," he clarified, taking a seat next to her, holding up a polystyrene cup of coffee. "Just had to get some energy – figured we might be here a while."

"_We?_ " _Okay, what the hell was going on here? _"What happened?"

"You were in a car accident."

"I gathered that. My memory's still intact," she said sourly. "I'm guessing my car's totalled."

"Pretty much." He scrutinised her carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she replied bluntly, wondering where this bitterness seemed to be coming from. "Ribs hurt, and my head feels like it's on fire, but other than that, doing just fine."

"Well, aren't you a cheerful ray of sunshine?" Damon quipped sarcastically. "Should I go?"

"No," she sighed, swiftly adopting a different mood so she didn't appear ungrateful. "I'm just... I'm tired of ending up in here, that's all." She peered at him through hooded eyes. "You...saved...me?"

"Of course," he replied, his gaze levelled with hers, something heated passing between them, much more than a spark but not quite as intense as a flame. "You _did _nearly kill me after all. I figured if I survived I'd have to save your sorry ass from jail by testifying you weren't actually in control of your car, and that you weren't just some mad woman with a grudge getting revenge on me for sleeping with you and never calling you back."

Elena had to laugh at that.

"You can tell you're an author," she remarked lightly. "You have this incredible way of coming up with absolute bullshit on the spot."

He seemed to visibly flinch at the word 'author' but otherwise kept his intense gaze on her. There was something about the deep set lines along his brow that told her he kept so much back, that there were more than just a few unhappy chapters in his own personal story. She resisted the urge to reach out and caress his face, putting that urge down to the medication she was presumably on, although she felt remarkably clear headed despite the fact she'd been in quite a severe accident.

"It's a gift," Damon said with a shrug. Then his face turned solemn. "The police had to get involved, Elena – I didn't call them..."

"What's the verdict?"

"Someone's tampered with your brakes." He closed his eyes, as if the thought was too much to handle, and his reaction confused her, although she'd address his concern later. "There was definite evidence of foul play that just didn't support the theory that it was a natural malfunction."

"Who would want to tamper with my brakes?" Elena questioned, a rush of giddiness in the wake of this development overwhelming her.

"You tell me."

She didn't like the way he folded his arms, scrutinising her for any trace of a lie, which again took her back to the question about why he cared exactly but before she could ask it, he changed the topic, as if sensing their relationship – for lack of a better term – was about to be put under a microscope.

"Look, best case scenario, you took the hit meant for someone else. Worst case... well, the police are probably gonna want to talk to you about that."

"Super." Her voice suddenly became small. "What if it's the worst case scenario?"

His hand came to rest on hers. She didn't shrug it off.

"Then you tell the police any one you might know who would have reason to hurt you."

"That's the problem. I don't know anyone who would do this! I'm not exactly a saint, but I'm the furthest thing from a sinner you could possibly get! Talk to anyone I know, they'll tell you I'm not the kind of girl who amasses this endless list of enemies."

"I'm not interrogating you," Damon was quick to assure her. "It's just..." He scrunched his face up, as if he suddenly tasted something unpleasant. "The idea of someone having a reason – no matter how fucked up it might be – to hurt you is just twisted. It bugs me."

"Why?"

"Why?" he spluttered. "Do I even need a reason?"

"No but indulge me," she replied, tilting her head. "How does a man go from wanting nothing to do with a girl, to saving her life and staying with her even when he has the option to leave?"

"You think that's why I told you it was best if we didn't see each other anymore? That I didn't want anything to do with you?" Damon was incredulous. "Christ, you have a low opinion of yourself don't you?" He looked at her like a man might look at the sun after spending hours scrabbling about in the dark. "It was the opposite case, Elena. I told you it was best if we didn't see each other because I wanted you so much that it just took every bit of restraint I had not to kiss you." He swallowed, suddenly vulnerable. "I've been burned by love before, Elena, and I don't know why, but something tells me you have too, but that's not where the attraction lies. They say misery loves company, but nobody ever explains why that's so. Is it because people find solace in the fact they're not going through the worst of what life has to offer alone? No. I think it's because miserable people seek out other miserable people because they want to see how they do it, how they get up and face another day without crashing and burning. People aren't drawn to weakness, they're drawn to strength, and maybe that's why I can't stay away."

She stared at him, rendered speechless.

_This _was the Damon she'd envisioned when first speculating about the man behind the cynical novels; and they were cynical novels, filled with bitterness but also hope, and there was always a sense of letting go towards the end, although she had a feeling '1864' would not end that way at all, given that its themes consisted of dark love, possession, manipulation, and one man's curse to fall in love anyway, despite the danger signs. She wondered if he even grasped the depth he possessed, whether he realised the way he articulated his thoughts was so much more attractive to a woman than just his bad boy style. Of course, his ruffled, just-got-out-of-bed hair, and his flawless taste in clothing hardly made him someone you'd find yourself kicking out of bed – unless, you know, he happened to open his mouth and let one of his careless remarks fly – but she was very much sold on the fact that there was a deeper side that he guarded carefully, and probably with good reason.

Before she could comment, a white coated blonde woman, with eyes a brilliant shade of green, swept into the room, taking in the scene before her with a brusque manner.

"Ah, Miss Gilbert, you're awake," she stated, rather unnecessarily Elena thought but she wasn't going to comment. "Are you experiencing any kind of discomfort? Any nausea? Dizziness?"

"No, I'm fine," Elena replied. "What's the damage?"

The doctor smiled.

"No damage whatsoever. We had to check for internal bleeding – standard procedure, you understand – but you seem to be in good health especially considering the severity of the accident you were in. Due to the nature of the impact, your ribs appear to be fractured, but that's about it. Entirely treatable. You also have bruises and minor skin lacerations, nothing I wouldn't expect from circumstances like these. Overall there's very little to treat, yet I'd advise you stay in hospital overnight just the same, just so we can be absolutely sure you're okay, but I don't see why you can't be back in your own bed by tomorrow."

"Thanks, Doctor," Elena replied gratefully, leaning back against the pillows, her head lolling back slightly as she perused the ceiling with vague curiosity; hospitals never were aesthetically pleasing, and they weren't designed to be, but the endless sea of grey and white tiles could drive you mad just staring at them, but maybe that was the point – to drive you to distraction so that you didn't contemplate the horror the four walls surrounding you had seen over time.

"No more death-defying stunts for you, young lady," Damon lectured her, his eyes glistening with amusement, one corner of his mouth turned upwards into the ghost of a smirk. "You got away with it this time but who knows what might happen next time?"

She shifted uncomfortably, inexplicably affected by his comment.

The fact of the matter was her brakes had been tampered with and, whether it was a planned attempt on her life or meant for someone else, she now felt unsafe, her security violated in the most brutal of ways. She saw the accident in her mind, remembered hearing the sharp screech of the tyres, remembered the agonising pressure on her chest as fear took over, remembered the way her body almost folded into itself as it reflexively strived to protect itself from the worst of the impact. It all replayed in her mind in slow motion, and then her mind had to take it one step further, adding a bridge and unfathomably dark waters to the scene to the point where she could no longer distinguish the two events.

She closed her eyes, attempting to block these images, but they kept coming at her over and over until she opened her eyes, aware Damon was staring at her, a look of concern settling into his features.

"You okay?" he asked.

She thought about telling him why hospitals freaked her out so much, even though she seemed to be in and out of them all the time, but her throat clammed up at the very idea of spilling that little secret in the presence of a man who seemed to be a master at keeping his own secrets guarded from unworthy eyes. She didn't know what it was they even had yet, whether it was a tentative friendship or something on the cusp of romance, but all she did know was she couldn't just trust him on the basis that he had his deep moments. Anyone could break you, no matter what their intelligence levels were, and it just went to show that you had to be careful who you handed your heart out to, because in this world people were more than capable of crushing it. She couldn't take the risk of putting her trust in someone who, honestly, seemed just as damaged.

"Fine..." she lied, trying to hide the fact her hands were shaking by slipping them under the covers. "Just want to get out of here, I guess." She eyed him curiously. "You're still here."

"Well observed. Two points to the lady," he quipped, smirking. "This is a hospital, and you are being treated here – ooh look, I can play State The Obvious too!"

"Ass," she mumbled, turning away so she could pull herself together. "What is it we're doing here, Damon?"

His smirk faded.

"I don't know," he confessed, "but all I do know is I've tried not to let myself feel anything for a long time. In the long run, switching off your emotions helps you get a lot more done, you just feel empty a lot of the time."

"Someone burned you pretty bad," Elena noted softly.

His eyes darkened.

"Let's just say I'm no stranger to heartbreak, and leave it at that."

She wanted to ask him who had burned him so bad he found himself incapable of letting himself feel, but sensed the wall he put up to protect himself, which had momentarily come down in the wake of her accident (and she used that term loosely given the circumstances), was back in place, not likely to come down again in a hurry.

Instead, she lay back, studying him closely, remembering how he'd described her in his writing, and tried to reciprocate the gesture, wondering what particular features were the most noteworthy, and in her head composed a rough draft of what she might've written had she had access to pen and paper.

_Eyes glazed with frost, like windows, reveal only the superficial; attempt to go any deeper, and it's like wading into quicksand, the weight of what you begin to know pulling you under until it all threatens to suffocate you. His hair, the colour of raven's wings, is soft to the touch, like running your fingers through a pile of feathers. His eyes bear the scars his skin doesn't show, a broken heart sheltered beneath a toned body that bears the strength of anything but the weight of his own sorrow. Indifference is the facade he wears like a mask, day in, day out, an easy emotion to cling to like a life raft at sea, but ever so often the raft drifts to deeper waters, showing signs of a darker world..._

Elena paused mid-thought, contemplating the dangers of working someone into a fantasy piece of writing, the main one being that you became obsessed, constantly carving out your fantasies on a piece of paper until you started to believe in what you'd written, accepting it as fact. She was sure there were probably novels out there about girls who fell in love with men of their own fictional creation, but she'd not yet stumbled upon them, although there were plenty where both men and female characters alike conjured an imaginary relationship which slowly consumed their attention to the point it became their one and only priority.

Then again, as she glanced at Damon, she understand the novelty behind trying to capture what you saw with your eyes by writing it down, translating it onto paper so you could understand and revere a person's features, all the while underlining what it was that fascinated you about them. After all, writing was a form of art, a way of catching thoughts and putting them down in a universally translatable form. She just wondered what had burned Damon so badly that even writing proved an ineffective way of slaying his demons.

There was suddenly a light tap on the door, a police officer with warm eyes and a tentative smile hovering in plain sight.

"Miss Gilbert?" He stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Officer Martin, and I'm just wondering if it's a convenient time to ask you a few questions regarding your accident?"

Elena released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Sure," she replied, smiling tightly, glancing at Damon, who suddenly wore an unreadable expression.

"I can step out if you like," he offered, but his tone suggested he probably wasn't going to adhere to her wishes if that was the case.

"No." She gave him a small smile. "You can stay."

"Really?" He gave her a searching look. "Why?"

"Because sometimes misery loves company," she quoted at him.

His eyes locked with hers; a slow smile spread across his features, as warm as sunlight and just as bright.

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"She's _where?!" _Caroline screeched, practically annihilating her phone with her tight grasp.

_"She's in hospital," _Bonnie's soothing tones informed her. _"My friend, Luka, told me she'd ended up there when he got a call while we were out sharing lunch. I talk about you guys all the time so he put the pieces together when he was told to head to the hospital to talk to her."_

Caroline pinched the ridge of her nose, trying to figure out which burning question she wanted to ask first.

"Is she okay?" she settled on addressing first. "I mean... what even happened?"

_"Police think someone tampered with her brakes. She lost control and ended up crashing her car."_

"Who'd want to tamper with the brakes of the sweetest, gentlest, albeit most emotionally constipated, girl in the entire world?" Caroline growled. "Ooh, let me get my freshly manicured hands on their necks! I'll kill 'em!"

_"You'd have to get in line I'm afraid. I've called dibs on the front spot." _It was always a pleasant surprise to hear such vehemence in Bonnie Bennett's voice; normally she was quite passive, emotionally driven but not exactly inclined to act impulsively, unlike say Caroline, who pretty much obeyed every whim her impulsive mind could conjure up. _"She's going to be okay, Care. Elena's a survivor."_

Caroline sniffed haughtily.

"Maybe so, but that's irrelevant. I know I threaten to kill her all the time – like when she borrows my makeup and never gives it back – but who'd want to actually attempt to end her life?" Raw emotion leaked into her voice. "Tell me there's an entire army of bloodthirsty police waiting to avenge her?"

_"Luka promised he was going to do all he could to chase this up, and he..."_

"Hold the phone... who _is_ this Luka person? You've mentioned him, like, three times and I need some context."

There was a pause that lasted a breath too long.

_"A friend."_

"Funny, I never heard you mention him before," Caroline challenged.

_"He's kind of a new acquaintance. I know you're dying to ask more, but can you drop it for tonight? I'm heading to the hospital. Are you coming?"_

"Of course," Caroline assured her. "Just gonna ring Tyler, let him know where I'm gonna be. He'll probably meet me there."

_"I'll see you there then. Love you."_

_ "_Love you too."

Caroline let the phone linger by her ear for a moment, her mind consistently going over every kind of scenario possible that could've led to Elena having her brakes tampered. Her eyes went cold as one seemed to make perfect sense to her, and it took her a moment to remember how to breathe again.

Unlike Elena, weirdly enough, Caroline had made it her business to find out what kind of man Elijah was. Unfortunately, that had led to her making some startling discoveries, like what kind of family members he had; one narcissistic brother with a penchant for stirring up drama, a vain sister with an impulsive nature and a fiery temper to boot, a brother who liked to disappear months on end, usually returning with tales of the fights he'd been in, a violent character with a sharp tongue who otherwise remained indifferent to the plights of others, and a brother who otherwise detached himself from his family, choosing to spend a life with the one he loved – a fiery red headed woman by the name of Sage. She could amass a lot of information quicker than the time it took some people to read a newspaper, which meant sometimes she stumbled upon facts she wasn't sure whether to divulge or anything.

Regarding Elijah's family, she'd learned they were a cluster of strong personalities with a proclivity towards violence. It was in their natures, with Elijah and his brother Finn being the only exceptions. Digging up as much information as she could – purely to make sure Elena was involved with the right sort of man, not one who had a record of domestic abuse for example – she'd learned the family over the years had amassed numerous headlines, very few of them positive. When she'd confronted Elijah with what she'd learned, demanding to know what the hell he was doing with Elena, he'd begged her not to reveal anything, insisting he very rarely saw his family, assuring her he came to the city for a fresh start, an attempt to break away from his self-destructive family. She'd taken some convincing, but eventually she walked away feeling hopeful that he genuinely cared for Elena, and that she wasn't going to end up dragged into his dark world.

Could it be possible she'd ended up being dragged into it anyway? Was that the reason why Elijah had slipped out of her life, making sure it looked like he'd disappeared off the face of the earth?

Caroline's skills at finding out information were legendary, but she also knew when to probe further and when to let matters slide. Some things were not meant to be found out by just anybody, and that was what she felt set her apart from other broadcast journalists. Yes, she could find the information people wanted, and she could report it with an air of professionalism most on-air reporters visibly lacked these days, but she knew where to draw the line, which was how she'd gained a contact list over the years, in preparation for her career, which admittedly she'd not spent much time pursuing due to spending most of her time helping Elena with the shop.

Maybe this time her ability at judging when to stop searching for information had just cost her friend her security.

Before she knew what she was doing, Caroline had retrieved her phone, retrieving a number from her contact list before dialling it, waiting impatiently until a frustrated sigh pushed past her lips as it went to voicemail.

"Damn it, Elijah, when you decide to make contact, it's at a time that's inconvenient to me, but when I need to make contact with you, you decided to go AWOL," she ranted down the phone. "Listen, I don't know where you are, but I thought I'd should be the one to let you know that Elena is in hospital right now. Why? Because someone tampered with her brakes. I don't know if this has anything to do with your twisted world, or your equally as twisted family, but if it has just know I'm gonna kick your ass for ever getting involved with her." She released an angry breath before adding, "Once upon a time, I might've been singing a different tune, but now I'm saying I think it's best you stay away. I wanted you two to work, but obviously there are forces at play here that I will never understand, forces which took you away from her and kept you away. Just...just know you're never gonna find someone like her again."

Wanting to say more but unable to, Caroline hung up, unable to help reminiscing over the last time she'd had to make this kind of call to Elijah. It had been a completely different time then, and a lot had changed, but still she almost longed for the good old days, back when Elena's smile hadn't been forced, when her eyes had had a glow to them, an irrepressible kind of joy.

She had a lot to hate Elijah for, but Caroline couldn't help but think Elijah, in his own twisted way, had left to protect her, in perhaps the most extreme case of being cruel to be kind, but she had to ask herself what could've happened to make him think he had no other choice but to leave, without so much as a goodbye?

Caroline feared she didn't want to know.

...

..

.

When she was done with the policeman's questions, Elena let her head fall back against the pillow, her eyes following Officer Martin as he left the room, landing briefly on Damon who seemed to be wearing a tight expression, his lips scrunched up tightly, frost glazing his expression, which only seemed to be thawed by her hand gently squeezing his.

"Hey," she murmured, smiling at him to show she was okay, that she would survive this experience because that's who she was. "You still with me?"

He smiled.

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm still with you."

"Officer Martin says they're looking into probable motives, but it's likely it was a mistake – my car's a common enough one in the city ...or was anyway..."

"Can we not do this?" he asked suddenly, his manner abrupt as he rose to his feet, her hand falling lamely by her side. "Can we not pretend that this isn't a big deal? Whether it was a mistake or not, we can't ignore the fact you were a victim – unintended or otherwise – of a planned _assassination."_

"Do you really want to be that dramatic about?" she asked coolly. "I'm not some big political figure, or celebrity; call a spade a spade, it was attempted murder if you want to dress it up that way."

"Whatever." He scowled. "Someone out there had a reason to hurt you, and you gave the police little to go on..."

"Hold the phone." Now she was pissed off. "You think I'm withholding information? You think if I had a clue who was behind this I wouldn't tell the police? Do you think I'm that stupid, Damon?"

"I don't know what to think," he admitted, still visibly angry. "But I will never be able to erase the sight of your car crashing right before my eyes. I won't be able to get that out of my head! I just want the lowlifes responsible to pay!"

"Why?" she snapped. "Why does it matter? Why do you care if I live or die? Let's get back to that point, shall we? When I asked before, you gave me some half ass speech about misery loving company, but let's get down to what the real issue here is: you being too scared to go after what you want because you're terrified of being burned. You won't tell me who the hell it was who stole your heart and ran away with it, but you'll happily sit here and lecture me on the quality of the information I gave the police about _my own accident. _Screw you, Damon! You either give me more to believe this isn't just some obligation you're putting yourself through, or you walk away now, because at this point I think I've grown accustomed to people I care about walking away from me, or disappearing from my life, so one more shouldn't make a damn bit of difference!"

Damon stared intensely at her, something fierce blazing behind his eyes, a concoction of pain and hope and desire burning there behind a glass wall; all he had to do was break that wall and all that would come rushing out, she knew it. She wanted him to embrace the very parts of him he kept locked away, although she kept so much of herself hidden maybe it was a case of the hypocritical passing on hypocritical advice when it wasn't needed.

Then, taking them both by surprise, he cupped her face with his hands, crashing his lips against hers, the violence of the act stealing her breath before she had chance to expel it, her very nerves set alight by the sheer _passion _which fuelled it. Before she knew it, she was responding, her lips trying desperately to synchronise with his, to make the motion smoother, but it ended up being a failed effort because his lips were a current hers just couldn't swim against. All she could do was equal his strong kiss by pouring as much passion as she could into hers, navigating his lips back to hers when they strayed to the corner of her mouth, on the trail path which would surely lead to her neck, and further down if she let him.

When he released, he appeared startled by the action, and a wave of hurt washed over her, a wave which was quickly stemmed by the giddy smile which crossed his features, his blue eyes shining like pieces of broken glass reflecting a clear sky. She returned the smile, aware her fingers were already lightly tracing her lips, following the path his had blazed. Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird, her nerves alight with a fierce fire which couldn't be controlled; she felt like a school girl, with an erratic heartbeat triggered by just the mere glimpse of a handsome man.

"I'm here because I want to be, because I can't keep fighting what this is," he told her gently. "Yes, I've been burned by love, and I keep trying to convince myself once was enough, that I can't go through it again, but I guess a tiny part of me always hoped a reason might present itself to try for it again." He rested his forehead against hers, and she felt his need for that simple contact radiate from his skin, so her fingers caressed the sides of his face, bleeding comfort she knew he needed right in that moment. "That reason is you, Elena."

"I'm scared too," she replied honestly. "The last man I loved walked out on me without a second thought, leaving everything he owned behind. I don't know if he's even alive, but some small part of me – call it gut instinct – tells me he voluntarily left, and I'll never know the reason why. I'm terrified the next man I choose to give my heart to will find the same reason he did to walk out and just leave me, because I can't go through that again. I found your books by chance, and I gave them a chance, and I got something wonderful out of it. I wanted to meet you to see if real life imitated art, and I guess I got my wish."

"I'm not gonna lie, Elena, the thought of trying a relationship makes my skin itch. I went into my last one with the same naive hopes of eternal love, and all that bullshit, and I barely survived when the whole thing when up in flames. I don't know if I can do it twice."

"Then we'll figure it out together," she said simply, unaware she was silently crying until Damon hesitantly reached for her face, wiping away the tears clumsily, nearly poking her in the eye in the process, something which made her laugh.

Damon noted her laugh and, more importantly, the face she made when she laughed. Her lips drew back into a smile that he'd never seen on her face before, and when her mouth opened to release the laugh, an array of pearl white teeth glimmered like a row of jewels; her laugh itself was a mixture of snorts and high pitched giggles, combined to form this weird noise that he realised was quickly becoming his favourite sound in the entire world.

He vowed to find a way to make her laugh every day.

"So we're really doing this?" he confirmed, his eyebrows knitting together, as if banding together to assess the sincerity in her reply.

"Absolutely."

"Would it be cliché if I kissed you again?"

She scrunched up her nose as she contemplated the answer.

"Yes," she decided, "but cheesy is good."

He leaned in again, this time applying less pressure to his kiss so that it became soft and chaste, a sweet promise of what was to come.

Was she scared of giving her heart away again?

Yes.

But so was he, and that made all the difference.

One way of ensuring your heart was never broken again, after all, was to find someone who knew exactly how it felt to be in that kind of pain and fall in love with them. Easier said than done of course, but Elena traced the contours of Damon's face, convinced she could fall for him.

_Please don't leave me _she whispered silently against his lips at the exact moment he whispered _don't break my heart._

* * *

A/n: Easily the best chapter I've done so far (in my opinion). Sorry for the lateness in updating. Just trying to figure out where to take this story before I reach the next critical plot point. But yay for a Damon/Elena kiss! As in the show, however, a relationship between them isn't going to be easy, and confronting their demons and confiding in each other about their pasts isn't going to be straightforward, but they're Damon and Elena – they can survive anything. Big thank you for all your patience with this story, with all the reviews/faves/alerts, and I promise to pay you guys back somehow. In fact, I have an idea which I'll tell you more about during the last few chapters of this story (got a while to go before that happens yet!) which will be a way of thanking you all personally for your continued faith in me and this story. Tell you more about it later :)


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